Infinite DC
by RetroWriter2012
Summary: A Time Lady and her many regenerations gather to thwart a special Dalek hunter bent on exterminating them in this mega crossover epic, featuring the worlds of Doctor Who, DC Comics, and multiple Warner Bros. properties. Reviews are welcomed!
1. Prologue

**Prologue: The Genuine Article**

Earth seemed so distant to Candace, centuries into fighting this "Time War."

Her life changed completely the day she discovered her true Gallifreyan heritage. Raised for six years in Atlanta, Georgia on Earth, during the early 1970s, she lived a simple farm life with her mother and father.

Then came a peculiar stranger with a ridiculously long, colorful scarf.

He only called himself "The Doctor."

He showed up on their doorstep with his overtly welcoming attitude, flashing his bulging blue eyes and toothy smile exclusively to Candace. She would never forget it, as it scared the crap out of her.

This "Doctor" laid claim to Candace being from another part of the universe – another planet by the name "Gallifrey" – and her actual name was "Neas."

She initially refused to believe any of it, until her mother and father vouched for the Doctor's allegation. She _was_ born on Gallifrey but left on Earth to be raised out of the influence of the Time Lords, the oldest and mightiest civilization of the planet, particularly one by the name of Rassilon.

It was all difficult for her to comprehend, and she did not have much time to, with the Doctor whisking her away from simple Georgia life and into the cosmos before she even realized it.

They left Earth in his spaceship, the T.A.R.D.I.S. (short for "Time And Relative Dimension In Space," an acronym first coined by Susan, his granddaughter). The T.A.R.D.I.S. itself was a wonder. A simple, old blue British police box on the outside, yet an endless otherworldly spacecraft on the inside.

She had never seen anything like it, neither any of what the Doctor showed her on the "detour" they took to Gallifrey.

Within what felt like a year to her, she served as what the Doctor liked to call a "companion" in their adventures to distant worlds. He introduced her to the likes of alien races such as the rhino humanoids known as the Judoon, a species native to Earth called the Silurians, the belligerent and militaristic Sontarans of Sontar, and the metamorphic Zygons. There was only one race of beings the Doctor hoped she would never encounter in her life, and they were the Daleks.

Genetically engineered mutants encased in armor, the Daleks were the greatest enemy of the Doctor. Not long before Candace began her travels with him, the Doctor possessed an opportunity in ridding himself and the rest of the universe of the Daleks. He was left with a choice that he would long soon regret, having spared them in the hope for peace.

But a Dalek knew nothing of peace…not from the Doctor's perspective.

And Candace would discover this herself, several years later.

Many who fought in the Time War believed it to have started in the Doctor's failure to destroy the Daleks once and for all. Others knew of alternate circumstances that led to the event.

Candace only knew her role in it was destined from birth.

Sometime after she was left to live in seclusion, inside a barn located in the outer regions of Gallifrey – the Drylands, she was found by the Time Lords. Abducted one evening by a group of soldiers, she was brought to the Citadel Capitol, the very home of the Time Lords.

There, she bore witness to the true ruthlessness of the people she was meant to be kept from. For reasons never explained to her at the time, she was put through rigorous training and experimentation, supervised by Rassilon himself, growing her into adulthood with a superior build and intellect. She was christened as a "Time Lady" and gifted with "regenerative energy."

All of this made her feel like the superheroes she would read about in her favorite comic books.

Unfortunately, superhero life was not all it was cut out to be.

The extreme training and experimentation that they put her through all made sense in the centuries of the Time War. She was literally bred for this battle, combating with the Dalek forces in a gladiatorial body. Perceptually, she did become recognized as "The Gladiator" in her multiple victories, turning the tide of the war in numerous instances.

Of course, she greeted it with an absence of zeal that her cohorts wholly embraced.

She wanted to leave Gallifrey…leave behind this nightmare she was unwillingly lured into. She would hope for the Doctor to return and take her away – show her more of those incredible planets with wonderful places and creatures she could only dream about.

And he _did_ come back…with a new face nowhere as friendly or welcoming as the one with the ridiculously long scarf.

This new man, who refused to refer himself as "Doctor," was just as much a warrior than what the Time Lords turned Candace into. He came into this conflict with one purpose: destroying the Daleks.

Their days of traveling through time and space together were over.

In light of the war, she was only his companion on the battlefield.

Opportunely, a shred of the man she once knew as the Doctor remained in this warrior. In their reunion, he offered her a position in his T.A.R.D.I.S. as co-pilot, as well as some new clothes to trade out of the ludicrously discomforting crimson battle armor she was regulated to wear.

A long red knitted coat over a gray, cleavage-heavy tank top with black leggings that accentuated her toned legs and brown leather boots made up the new assemblage of style. Granted, it did not follow the military dress code, but she felt more comfortable in battle. Also, the Doctor himself found the crimson armor to be in poor taste.

She was just a teenager, or a facsimile of one (the Time Lords' gift of regeneration made her _real_ age undecipherable), when the war began. The Doctor, in his new warrior form, was a young man of some odd years ahead of her. Through passing centuries, they both aged in their battle-hardened bodies. She grew into a woman appearing forty-nine years old. Once, she and the "War Doctor" (as she grew to call him) were of similar statures. Now it seemed she towered him exceptionally.

Substantial muscle definition gained in the Time Lords' training and experimentation expanded from maturity. The density of her biceps visibly tested the fabric of that red knitted coat. Whenever she would remove it, she left her broad, tight, and sometimes sweaty shoulders exposed.

Marveled by the remarkable physique of this woman he once knew as a little girl, the Doctor one time observed, "A woman of great strength to compliment her mountainous stature shouldn't need a T.A.R.D.I.S. to barrel down an armada of Dalek warships. You could lay waste to them all on your own."

She chuckled at his comment.

Truthfully, she had transformed into quite the Gallifreyan amazon. Whether it came from the Time Lords or was au naturel, she could not tell. She only knew it was what got her through this war, without as much as a scratch – though she would not dare to test her physical capabilities against a Dalek death ray.

There were moments when she could feel the Time War reaching its climax. Both sides developed new weapons of mass destruction to change the tide of the war. Rumors spread of a super-advanced Dalek soldier capable of bending the fabric of reality and transferring across dimensions, codenamed "The Vector Dalek" (or "Dalek Vec" for short). In response, the Time Lords created a new experimental "Type-Z" T.A.R.D.I.S. in the base of the Citadel.

Considering how the war was "time-locked" (no one could use time travel as a method of altering its course), such devices were highly invaluable against the opposing forces.

It was not only these new weapons that convinced Candace of the war's end.

One fateful day, she and the Doctor landed in the Dalek-ravaged city of Arcadia. The second they both stepped out, the Doctor bid her farewell, a gesture that caught her by surprise.

"Thank you for being an incomparable wing mate in this fruitless war."

She feared his words to mean the worse – that he intended to die in battle.

"Where are you going?"

He sighed in such a way that she could only label as frustration. "Too long have I stayed my hand," he disclosed. "No more. Today, this war will end."

There was still guilt in him. Guilt from what happened to Cinder, the young woman they met on Molodox and a worthy companion…until she would later be one of the final casualties in the Time War – the one that convinced the Doctor to end it.

"Don't blame yourself for Cinder." She prompted herself to say.

He was quiet for a long moment, struck by her words.

"Leave Gallifrey, Candace," he advised. "Whatever way you can, leave this world…and never come back."

"Take me with you."

"I can't. Where I'm going, you don't want to be."

She wanted to ask him where that was; but she shirked from questioning the man who was not always known for his honesty.

"So," she began, "how do I leave here without a T.A.R.D.I.S.?"

The Doctor smirked. "Do what _I_ did: steal one."

She lit with wonder.

He could not have meant the "Type Z," could he? It was the one T.A.R.D.I.S. on Gallifrey that had not yet been tested.

A rush of footsteps stomping over the gravel shifted their attention from each other to a young soldier who huddled against a crumbled wall just a short distance away. He alerted a message to the High Council of Gallifrey that Arcadia had fallen.

"Go…now," the Doctor instructed Candace, his gaze fixed on the lone soldier.

She did as she was told, leaving his side and rushing across the ruins.

However, she stopped halfway to look back, as soon as she heard laser fire. There the Doctor was, blasting away into a wall and carving a message: "NO MORE." They were the very words he said to her not so long ago. Clearly, it was meant for both warring civilizations to see.

It drew the attention of nearby Daleks, luring them directly into an elaborate trap. He crashed the T.A.R.D.I.S. through the opposing wall, ramming down all of them in its path before ascending to the stars above. One Dalek, left bisected from the demolition, looked to the Doctor's carved message.

"WHAT…ARE…THESE…WORDS? EXPLAIN! EXPLAIN!"

The half-dead Dalek was swiftly put out of its misery, with one blast to the head from the lone Time Lord soldier. Its dome shattered, erupting in flames.

Candace returned to the scene, in the wake of the chaos, her sights set on the soldier. She knew the Doctor would not have approved her going back, yet he was no longer on the planet to see her disobey him.

"Hey, you!" She caught the soldier's attention, nearly getting _her_ head blown away when he sharply turned and aimed. "Whoa! Easy! We're on the same side!"

"W-Who are you? Were you with the Doctor?"

She smiled in relief, heartened to realize the soldier's familiarity with the "war hero" of the Time War.

"Yeah, I was," she confirmed. "And he left me on an important mission that I need your help in."

The soldier glowered. "What do you need?"

"To accompany me to the base of the Capitol. Can you do that for me?"

He considered for a brief moment and then nodded.

Side-to-side, they sprinted past the ruins of Arcadia. He kept his gun up in the event of a Dalek attack; though they barely found any on their way.

"It's a shame," he said, "what happened to this once-proud city."

She lamented with him. "Yes, it is."

* * *

The fresh metallic scent that welcomed them into the repair shop beneath the Capitol was no different from any Candace been to on Earth. In fact, it felt exactly the same from the cluttered state of the area. An array of various machines surrounded them, and she had not a bit of knowledge how any worked. She only focused on finding the Type-Z.

She and the soldier were careful in their lurking through the corridors.

The Omega Arsenal was not far from there. The War Council's attention brought to the room in wake of the Daleks' breach of Arcadia.

Candace fleetingly heard the General, a man who was once her commanding officer before she began taking orders from the War Doctor, mention something called "The Moment." It was a weapon of the highest caliber in devastation meant only to be used as a last resort.

Inconveniently, the Moment was taken by someone who already had plans for it.

If she were not troubled with her own treasure hunt at the moment, she would take the time to play detective and help the War Council find out the whereabouts of the Time Lord device.

She wanted to give a victorious shriek the second that she uncovered the Type-Z in one section of the shop reserved just for it. The 11-foot-long black, extremely flat, non-reflective rectangular solid stood at the center of a dark, damp corner, a single pillar of fluorescent light shining overhead.

She smiled at the magnificent alien construct. Never before had she seen a T.A.R.D.I.S. in its truest form, only familiar with the blue police box of the Doctor's.

"C'mon," she instructed the soldier. "Let's go."

He did not budge; a look of unsettling disbelief on his demeanor. "What do you mean 'Let's go'? Do you…Surely, you're not thinking of deserting this war!"

"What other choice do we have? This war is a lost cause, regardless of whether it's us that wins or the Daleks."

"NO!" The soldier barked; his grip tightening on the blaster rifle. "I cannot let you do that, ma'am!"

She believed for a second that he called her "Mum." His English accent was as thick and heavy as the armor he wore.

Before she knew it, his rifle was trained on her, this time on purpose.

"Step away from that T.A.R.D.I.S. or I _will_ shoot you!"

Candace held her hands up, scowling at the young man. "Sounds like a _Dalek_ threat to me, soldier."

Angered by the comparison, he rushed at her, pressing the barrel right between her breasts. Her two hearts within her chest cavity thumped against the applied pressure of the gun.

"I'm no Dalek," he defensively roared. "But you, ma'am, are certainly a _coward_!"

She was convinced he would squeeze the trigger right there and then, ending her unnaturally long life before she could experience the gift of regeneration. At point blank range, there was no possibility of survival. He could blow a hole through her.

All that stopped such a murderous act from happening was loud crackling resounding through the repair shop. Accompanied by a strong gust of wind and an explosion of ultraviolet light, a shape resembling a Dalek manifested near them.

And it was in fact a Dalek – one plated in black and gold.

The Time Lord soldier spun and fixed its aim on the Dalek, unleashing one intense blast of laser fire to its dome, much like the one before it.

But lasers had zero effect on _this_ Dalek.

The soldier's blast merely ricocheted off its dome, discharging off the ceiling.

"YOUR WEAPON IS USELESS AGAINST MY SUPERIOR HULL," screamed the Dalek in that unmistakable frantic-sounding, electronic voice.

To his immediate horror, the soldier found himself in the target of the superior Dalek, lacking any alternate plan of defense. All he could do was let the creature's death ray fire right into his torso. The pain was as slow and merciless as it was powerful. His body lit momentarily, exposing his endoskeleton like a living x-ray scan, before he disintegrated into blood-red ash that piled to the floor.

Candace was horrified. Never before did she witness such a gruesome display of power from a Dalek death ray. At most, all that was ever left was a corpse. This, however, was garishly different.

The gunstick and eyestalk were now pointed in her direction; once again, her life was at risk, now from a _real_ Dalek.

"Please don't shoot me." She had no idea why she bothered begging.

"I AM DALEK VEC! I WAS NOT MADE TO KNOW MERCY!"

And there was why it was pointless. The super soldier of the Daleks ready, willing, and able to exterminate her.

Then there was the matter of the plan she cooked up in her brain, while making Dalek Vec believe she was helpless.

Just as the next death ray was unleashed on her behalf, she ducked for cover behind the Type-Z. Its solid structure was the perfect shield, extinguishing the Vector Dalek's ray as it struck the body, leaving not a single dent.

The Time Lords' master weapon against that of the Daleks' proved to be an effective match.

Regrettably, she could not remain behind it for very long. Dalek Vec would easily get its way around the solid and exterminate her on sight.

There was just one way out of this situation and that was the Type-Z.

Getting into it, on the other hand, was a challenge.

It was devoid of any entranceway, being just as dense from the back as it was from the front. In her frustration, she slapped the palm of her left hand against the reflective slab of black marble.

The gesture had a clear influence on the structure.

A set of doors were etched all on their own before her eyes, opening thereafter. Iridescent light from inside the dimensionally altered space engulfed her, pulling her in. The self-constructed doors slammed close, melding back with the solid structure.

Dalek Vec prepared to fire again, until he heard a heavy humming, grinding noise.

It alerted him to the very dematerializing function of the Type-Z.

The craft's dimensions and detail faded in and out, until it finally vanished.

"THE TIME LADY WILL NOT ESCAPE! SHE _WILL_ BE EXTERMINATED!"

And, on this declaration, the Vector Dalek itself dematerialized from the space.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One: Happy New Year!**

Ten minutes until the New Year.

Benson put on the best front he could for the party. Everyone was there – Skips, Pops, Muscle Man, and High-Five Ghost. He was less than surprised to see Mordecai and Rigby; no way would those two ever miss a shindig like this.

Being park manager, he spared no expense.

The finest wings from Wing Kingdom, the most refreshing sodas, and Dion's "The Wanderer" playing in the background – how could their last night of the year be anything but celebratory?

Audrey.

No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much the gang did their best to help him, there was just no getting over the breakup.

Skips was wrong. There may have been plenty other women out there on the planet, but none of them would be as perfect as Audrey.

He hit the wings and soda harder than everybody else, intoxicating him more than the others.

Two minutes from midnight, with one can of soda in hand, he stood atop the coffee table and slurred a speech for the group: "I…I've got…I've got s-somethin' to say! And this…this is from…this is from the heart!"

"We love you, bro!" Muscle Man whooped.

"T-That's…That is what I'm _talkin'_ about!" Benson madly shouted. "I l-love you guys, too. You…Y-You are…You're my crew. You know that? Y-You guys are my crew, ya know that?"

More whoops from the crowd, the loudest coming out of Mordecai and Rigby.

"Yeah, I-I may threaten to f-fire you most days… _these_ two guys know what I'm sayin'!" He pointed right to Mordecai and Rigby, drawing roistered laughter. "Buh…But, you know…d-deep down…" Tears filled his eyes, his voice cracked. "…I love you all!"

The eyes of his co-workers watered as well.

Genuinely touched from the heartfelt speech, they shared in a group hug.

"Good show, Benson," said Pops. "Good show."

The euphoria of televised cheers brought their attention to the living room set.

The Times Square ball began to drop.

"Here we go!" Benson bellowed. "Let's do this!"

The crew counted along, "Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…four…three…two…ONE!"

 _BOOM!_

The house shook violently.

The electricity kicked out, shutting down the TV.

"WHAT'S HAPPENING?!" Rigby cried.

What sounded to be a jet plane rapidly plunging to the earth prompted them all to rush outside. Sure enough, something did plummet; they caught sight of the smoky trail left in its wake, running straight down to a collection of towering trees, a mile from the house.

"Whoa," Mordecai muttered his surprise.

"We've got to check for survivors." Bunsen directed. "Pops, call 9-1-1."

"Certainly, Benson."

Benson, Mordecai, Rigby, Skips, Muscle Man, and High-Five hurried to the clearing beyond the trees.

When they reached the area, they were breathless.

 _Too many wings and sodas_ , Benson thought.

"Guys…look!"

Following Mordecai's gaze, they gasped over the wide, fiery crater dug deep into the ground. Embedded within it was a smoky eleven-foot black rectangular solid.

"What the heck is _that_ thing?" Rigby questioned.

"Looks like a giant VHS tape." Skips observed.

"It must be what fell from the sky." Mordecai presumed.

Their focus on the strange, unidentifiable object intensified with the sudden manifestation of doors on what they believed to be its front. A peek into the penetratingly lit interior showed some disproportion to the exterior. This was certain from the emergence of a young African American man decked in a brown bomber jacket, a cream-colored aviator scarf, beige pants, and brown boots.

To Skips, he looked like a Tuskegee airman; the yeti was old enough to recall fighting in World War II with such soldiers.

In the arms of the supposed airman, he carried a much younger auburn-haired Caucasian woman. She looked to be in her early twenties and, in the eyes of Benson, was strikingly beautiful, even in her unconscious state.

"She needs help," the airman said of the girl in his arms.

* * *

Mordecai offered his bed as a good place for the girl; carefully, the airman placed her onto it.

Benson was unable to take his eyes off her the whole time. She looked like a princess, albeit in a tight grey t-shirt and beige pants, black high tops, and a plaid shirt tied around her waist.

"Doctor Henry says that he'll be here shortly," Pops alerted.

"Tell him not to come," ordered the airman, who scanned his inert companion's body with a small, peculiar device shaped like a screwdriver. "He wouldn't be able to determine her biology."

"What do you mean by that?" Benson asked, trying his best not to sound judgmental towards the man. "Who are you? And what happened to this girl?"

"We were attacked by one of the deadliest creatures known to this universe and the next," the airman explained.

"What kind of creature, bro?" Muscle Man queried.

The stranger answered with a single word unknown to the park residents: "Dalek."

Despite being unfamiliar with the term, Pops quivered. "It sounds dreadful."

"More than you know," the airman remarked, pocketing his screwdriver device into his jacket.

During the exchange, Skips momentarily departed from the room and returned with a stethoscope. He used the device on the girl before switching over to the airman. What he heard in the bodies of both beings confirmed a suspicion he had since their discovery of the alien ship.

"Time Lords," he uttered. "Just as I thought."

"Come again?" Rigby said.

"The dimensionally uneven spacecraft, the screwdriver-lookin' tool, and _two_ heartbeats," the yeti recounted. "They're Time Lords."

The airman raised a curious eyebrow. "You know of our race?"

"Yeah, I know about 'em." Skips passively confirmed. "The Guardians once told me how they stole the idea for headgear. Their knowledge of the universe extends beyond our own, ya know."

"Hold up. Can we rewind for a second?" Rigby proposed. "Could one of you guys explain to us what a 'Time Lord' is?"

"We're ancient beings of marvelous intelligence and capable of living longer than any other race in existence," the airman divulged.

Mordecai snickered. "Pretty high and mighty of yourselves, aren't ya? I mean, even the name is a giveaway."

The airman glared to the blue jay. "I am a _survivor_ ," he snapped. "Shel and I represent the last sole Gallifreyan in existence, and her…his… _my_ name is Neas."

Benson frowned. "You said 'sole,' as in _one_ , but we count _two_ of you here."

"We are both the same person – born through a process known as 'regeneration,'" Neas clarified. "Shel is what I'll one day regenerate into, and from the time I've spent with her, I have _a lot_ to prepare myself for…though I'll never remember any of it, once we're back in our proper timelines."

Benson felt slightly dismayed.

The beautiful auburn-haired girl he fawned over in the last minutes was in reality a manifestation born from a man. He was not quite certain what to make of this circumstance, and Muscle Man's response to it did not help any…

"You used to be a chick?!"

Neas scoffed. "Shel is an incarnation of my future self. But, yes, I was originally born a woman."

"Dude, that's just creepy," said Mordecai.

"Hey," Neas retorted, "I don't control the regenerations! At least, not consciously! It's a lottery!"

"What I cannot understand is why you are dressed like a pilot?" Pops asked.

Proudly tugging at his bomber jacket, Neas replied, "I'm a fan of the Tuskegee Airmen. As a matter of fact, I've flown and fought alongside them. The way I figure, I might as well make the best from regenerating as a black man. I faced enough prejudice as a woman in the eras I've been to."

"But _why_ a dude?" Muscle Man pressed. "I mean, it's so much more fun being a chick, bro."

Awkward silence followed his statement. He noticed the odd stares in his general direction.

"Not that I would know! I'm just sayin'!"

Neas cleared his throat, returning their concentration on Shel.

"I'll give her a moment to rest here, and then we'll be on our way. In all honesty, she would be safer here with you guys. Dalek Vec has relentlessly chased us through the dimensions between time and space all my lives. Never expected to have bumped into myself in the process. Poor kid."

Benson's eyes centered on Shel once more.

Despite knowing what he now knew about her, she was still quite a vision.

"She's gorgeous," he spoke his private thoughts aloud subconsciously.

Everyone, including Neas, looked to him strangely.

"Dude, Benson, you know that technically you are turned on by a guy, right?" Rigby informed.

"I AM _NOT_ TURNED ON BY A GUY, RIGBY!"

Awkward silence followed once again.

Neas could tolerate no more of the oddball characters he considered entrusting the life of his succeeding incarnation with.

"I've got to return to my T.A.R.D.I.S. to survey the damages."

"I'll go and help ya." Skips volunteered.

Neas grinned. "If you know as much about Time Lords as you claim, you're more than welcome to come."

The immortal pair set off, leaving the others to care for the auburn-haired beauty resting on Mordecai's bed.

Soon, however, they realized that she regained consciousness.

Her eyelids rose, exposing clear blue eyes beneath the fluorescent lighting. They darted all around, taking in the new surroundings and the blue jay, raccoon, gumball machine, green-skinned man, and ghost in front of her.

After a few seconds of realization, she exclaimed with immense anxiety, "Where's my Mogwai?"


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two: The Amazing World and the Next**

Just for once, it would be nice for Gumball and Darwin Watterson to have a day that did not begin in chaos. In the span of ten minutes, the boys overslept, skipped breakfast, missed the school bus, and were currently chased by Tina Rex. They made a mad dash down the sidewalk of a suburban district, Tina raging behind them – stomping down Elmore citizens and knocking over vehicles and fire hydrants in her path.

This insane chase only occurred because of Darwin's hygienic advice to Tina.

"You just _had_ to go and say something about her breath!" Gumball grumbled in between breaths.

"I only told her because she got Banana Joe stuck in her teeth," Darwin innocently said. "Look on the bright side: we're getting to school a lot faster."

"Darwin, remind me later to explain to you the benefits of not impulsively saying anything that would—"

 _SMACK!_

In their dispute, the boys failed to notice the 11-foot-long black, extremely flat, non-reflective rectangular solid they smacked face-first into.

Factually peeling their faces off the structure, they took notice in how it was oddly parked right in the middle of the sidewalk – something Gumball criticized: "Who'd just put this thing here? I mean, what's the purpose in…?"

The distant roar of the rampaging tyrannosaurus rex was a harsh reminder of the peril they were in at the moment.

"I really hope this thing is strong enough against a crazy t-rex!" Gumball shrieked.

The boys made the hasty decision of taking cover behind the bizarre object.

In doing so, they suddenly discovered it to be parted open in the back by a set of doors leading into a much larger interior.

"What the what?!" Gumball murmured.

They walked into what could only be described as a massive room encircled in bluish glowing walls decorated with roundels. In the center of this room was a bizarre, circular-shaped construct where they spotted the buttocks of a person in tight blue jeans and black rebel chain boots poking out from beneath while on hands and knees.

The owner of the buttocks swayed it to the tune that played loudly on speakers Gumball and Darwin neglected to see.

"Open the door, get on the floor, everybody walk the dinosaur!"

By the register of the singing voice, the boys figured the person beneath the construct to be a woman.

"Excuse me," Gumball shouted over the loud music.

The woman could not hear him, still singing along to the tune.

Gumball groaned. "Oh, there's no better way to do this than _this_."

He poked at the woman's right butt cheek like a doorbell.

Startled by the act, the woman's body jolted, bumping her head on the underbelly of the console.

"What the…?" She screamed, crawling out into the light for Gumball and Darwin to see her better.

She was indeed a woman (presumably in her mid-thirties) with shoulder-length blond hair and striking blue eyes. In addition to her blue jeans and chain boots, she wore a black leather jacket and cleavage-heavy t-shirt.

From out of her jacket, she retrieved a screwdriver-like device, pointing it in the air. It generated a low whirring sound and, consequently, the loud music switched off.

"Cool remote control." Darwin complimented.

"Why, thank you." The woman acknowledged. "It's something that I'm rather—" She immediately stopped once reminded of the boys' intrusion. "Hey, wait a minute! Don't try and flatter me! What're you kids doing in here? And what's the idea of using my butt as a _butt_ on." She giggled and snorted. "Get it? Butt? Butt-on?"

Her amusement abruptly ceased at the resonant roar outside.

"Tina's getting closer!" Darwin cried.

"Who's Tina?" The woman scowled in question.

She was urged to stand up, towering over Gumball and Darwin with her adult height, and fiddle with the controls on the console.

A large view screen, across from the control console, scrambled on.

Gumball and Darwin were flabbergasted to see it there, believing it to have been just a section of the encircling wall that lacked the roundel decor. They should have guessed it to be a special portion by its theatrical design, complete with a weird insignia right above the view screen.

The violent, scaly face of Tina Rex could be seen stampeding their way on the monitor, terrifying Darwin and Gumball.

Alarmed at the display, the woman frantically operated the controls, turning knobs and pulling levers.

"Hang on, boys!" She instructed.

Gumball and Darwin detected heavy humming and grinding just as the whole room lurched, throwing them onto one of the few pairs of chairs bolted down to the control console platform. Large metal restraints appeared over their waists, buckling them during the wild ride.

"My name's Cara, by the way," the woman introduced in midst of the chaos, hanging off the controls in the reallocated space.

"Mine's Gumball, and this is my brother, Darwin."

He could hardly believe they were making acquaintances at a time like this.

"How can a cat and fish be brothers?" Another shift and tremor almost threw her over the platform railing. "Never mind! I've gotta shake off this rex! She's got her jaws clamped down on us _good_! Probably gonna have to take her down the infinite D.C. with us!"

"Infinite D.C.?" Darwin repeated in confusion. "What's that?"

"That right there," answered Cara, pointing to a blue vortex that swirled continuously on the view screen. "That's the infinite dimensional corridor we're barreling down this second, boys. The ticket to unlimited parallel dimensions at our disposal."

Gumball sweated with anxiety. "We're going into a parallel dimension?!"

"Now we're _really_ going to be late for school," Darwin noted.

They heard the humming and grinding again.

Then all was quiet.

"What happened? A-Are we dead? Please don't tell me we're dead!"

Cara put the panicked blue cat-boy at ease: "We've landed in the next dimension."

They glimpsed to the view screen, seeing the dark alley outside.

"Is that Elmore?" Darwin asked.

"What part of 'next dimension' didn't you get?" Cara derided.

As surprising as it was for him to believe, the stillness around them unsettled Gumball. "Wait. What happened to Tina?"

"Probably got lost in the dimensional corridor." Cara submissively alleged.

"WHAT?!"

Their disturbed exclamation baffled her. "What? I thought you guys would be happy. She's no longer a threat to you, us, or the T.A.R.D.I.S."

"O.K., first off, I don't know what a 'T.A.R.D.I.S.' is nor do I even care," Gumball established, "and second, Tina may be a crazed, giant pain in our butts, but she's _still_ our best friend!"

"So what do you want me to do? Go out and look for her?" Just a second after the inquiry, she deduced, "You want me to go out and look for her, don't you?"

Gumball and Darwin firmly nodded.

Cara carped. "Fine. But you two are coming with me."

The boys gave a despairing sigh.

Together, they stepped out of the ship and into the alleyway.

"It's nighttime already?!" Gumball firstly observed upon their exit, before realizing thereafter, "Oh, right. Parallel dimension. Got it."

"I have to say, you boys are taking this all rather well," Cara praised.

Gumball casually shrugged. "Meh. We've already ventured into a parallel universe before, so this is pretty much Tuesday to us."

A roar sounded close by, cluing the trio in on the whereabouts of the creature it belonged to.

"That's Tina!" Darwin recognized.

Horrified screams followed.

"And that would be trouble." Gumball nervously identified.

They ran to the end of the alleyway, looking around the corner and spotting Tina Rex storming through a city block. Several terrified pedestrians scurried and rattled drivers crashed into one another to avoid her large, plodding feet.

Police sirens wailed in the distance.

"Oh, no," a distressed Gumball said. "Tina could seriously get hurt or _worse_."

The very thought made him and his brother pity the poor dinosaur that purposely terrorized them, mere moments ago.

"Tina doesn't deserve _that_!" Darwin defended. "She's just a kid!"

Cara angrily nibbled on her lower lip. "It always seems to be the nature of humans to hurt what they don't understand. C'mon, boys. Let's get to her before the cops do."

* * *

"Say that again?!"

Barry Allen wondered if his speed might have interfered with the link in communication from the two miniature lightning bolt-shaped earpieces attached to the ears of his Flash suit.

He could have sworn Cisco spoke something of a t-rex in Central City.

"Not even joking, dude," Cisco earnestly said. "It was reported on police radio: t-rex on fifth and main."

Barry received the full confirmation as soon as he arrived at the intersecting area.

There it was – a full-bloodied dinosaur in the midst of the hellish scene.

"Somebody explain this to me," Cisco said over the earpieces. "Since when do meta-humans become dinosaurs?"

"After King Shark, I can believe _anything_ , man," the awestruck Barry commented.

Approaching sirens supplemented an odd noise that corresponded with the materialization of a tall, peculiar rectangular solid. It manifested right in front of the t-rex before a blonde dressed like a biker chick exited out of the weird craft, joined by a goldfish and a blue cat that were right out of a cartoon.

They attempted to calm the hysterical dinosaur, while the Central City police – specifically the "Anti-Meta-Human Task Force" – reached the location and surrounded them.

Detective Joe West, Barry's foster father and friend, was one of the officers who responded to the scene. Being the only one there that knew Barry to be the Flash, Joe stood right next to him and whispered, "Got any ideas how to take care of this thing?"

Barry shook his head. "I got nothing. I-I mean, we've never dealt with anything like this before….have we?"

"Please, Gumball. Don't let them hurt me."

Barry, Joe, and all of Central City's police force jolted with astonishment at the t-rex's ability to speak, albeit mingled in deep roars.

"I was only playing with you and Darwin," she added.

"I know that, Tina," said the blue cat, who Barry guessed to have been "Gumball." "But _they_ don't know that."

Intuition sparked in Barry, listening to this exchange.

"Joe," he muttered. "Tell them to lower their guns."

West trusted him enough to follow whatever plan he had.

"Lower your weapons," he commanded his men. There was hesitation in some of them to do so, which provoked Joe to forcibly yell, " _Now!_ "

Barry slowly approached the motley crew of characters.

"Where do all of you come from?"

Directing his attention to the red speedster, Darwin and his group were wide-eyed in bewilderment.

"Who are _you_?"

Barry smiled. "Flash. My name's Flash."

"O.K., 'Flash,'" said Gumball. "You seem like a… _reasonable_ guy. So I can tell you this: my friend Tina may look like a giant, vicious t-rex…well, she _is_ … but she's actually just a scared kid."

"Scared kid," Joe echoed, shocked at the prospect Gumball specified. "This meta-human t-rex is a little girl?"

Cara's ears tickled at the diction he used. "Meta…human?"

Barry gazed on the frightened Tina.

He could see the genuine, childlike fear in her eyes.

And it melted his heart.

"Alright," he said. "No one's going to hurt her. But there _is_ someplace where we'll have to keep her, until we figure out how you guys got here."

"Oh, _that_ won't be too hard," Cara expressed with folded arms and a grin.

Gumball and Darwin were overjoyed for their large, reptilian friend.

"You hear that, Tina?" Gumball cheered. "You're gonna be just fine."

The boys hugged her huge, scaly legs.

Unfortunately, the heartwarming spectacle was not without a hygienic tip from Darwin: "You know, Tina, your legs could use a bit of moisturizing."


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three: The Mortal Kombat Instruments**

"…Antelope, Guggenheim, Albert, Salami, Giggly, Jumpy, Tom, Thomas, Tambourine, Leg Face McCullen, Artichoke, Penguin, Pete, Steve – but I think the very worst name for this frog is—"

"Wait," said a worried Wirt. "Wait a second."

He walked so far into the dark, eerie forest with his preoccupied little half-brother Greg and his new pet frog that he disregarded to keep up with their path.

Thunder rang through the skies, the telltale sign of an approaching storm.

Owls perched from the trees hooted, and other varieties of critters chittered.

It all uneased Wirt more than the harsh reality of being lost.

"Uh, Greg? Where _are_ we?"

"In the woods."

"I mean…what are we _doing_ out here?"

"We're walking home."

Wirt's heart raced. "Greg, I think we're lost. We should have left a trail or something."

"I can leave a trail of candy from my pants."

Enthusiastic by his idea, Greg reached into his lime green overalls and retrieved two piece of candy, dropping it to the ground.

"No," sighed Wirt. "Though I am lost, my wounded heart resides back home, in pieces, strewn about the graveyard of my lost love, for only—"

His monologue came to an abrupt end once he and Greg heard the barbaric screams of two men fighting in the distance.

Lighting shot out from ground level.

"Whoa!" Greg gleefully exclaimed. "I never knew lightning could do _that_!"

"No, no I don't think it's supposed to, Greg." Wirt fretted at the unearthly display. "H-How about we just…just run!"

Taking Greg by his hand, Wirt led him and his pet frog into the opposite direction of the abnormal battle happening afar.

In their haste, they passed a shrubbery.

Greg perceived a faint golden glow irradiating from it.

He wriggled out of Wirt's sweaty grip, scurrying to the bushes.

"Greg? Greg! What are you doing?"

"I see something shimmering in the bushes. Over here."

Wirt joined with him, helping brush back the branches to uncover the shining object: the body of a young Asian woman lying on the ground.

The glow Greg detected a moment ago irradiated from the woman's olive skin, until it fizzed out the second they discovered her.

"It's…I-It's…a girl," Wirt distinguished.

"Is she some type of ninja?" Greg indicated the tattered lime green karate gi the woman wore, with a blue sash draping from shoulder to hip. "It's all ripped up, too. What happened to her? Was she involved in that lightning fight back there?"

"I guess." Wirt said.

A loud, raspy gasp sounded out of the woman, startling the two boys.

"Don't kill me! Please!" She howled.

"N-N-No one's going to kill you!" Wirt assured. "I promise!"

And, just like that, the woman's demeanor changed from terror to serenity.

"That's comforting," she remarked. "I'd rather not die _again_ , thank you."

Wirt grimaced questionably. "Die again? What do you—?"

The skies boomed more fiercely with thunder.

They overheard wood crackling before another body joined beside the Asian American woman – a battered, bruised, and bloodied man wearing a straw coolie hat.

"RAIDEN!" She yelled out his name in immeasurable concern.

Surprisingly, the man recovered from his wounds rather quickly.

"RUN!" He ordered.

The earth quaked.

Wirt and Greg froze with fear.

There, not far from them, stood a four-armed, red-eyed creature that tore through trees as if they were stage props. Emerging into the clearing, it bellowed in a voice that was as monstrous as its appearance, "I will annihilate you and your Earthrealm defender, Elder God!"

"Then bring it, Goro," challenged the Asian American woman, showing herself from the shrubbery. "I'm ready for the next round!"

"I do not know you, feeble woman!" The creature (Goro) responded. "But I will kill you all the same!"

Raiden hoisted himself up alongside the female contender. "I know not where you come from. But I cannot allow your foolishness to endanger yourself or these children."

Raising a fist in the air, the Elder God conjured a bolt of lightning from the sky that struck him, the woman, and the two boys, but did no harm to them. Instead, it evaporated them, leaving not a single trace.

Goro growled to the heavens in defeat.

"I _will_ find you all," he brutishly swore.

"CORRECTION: _I_ WILL FIND THEM!"

Hearing the bizarre, automated voice shriek from behind, Goro turned and was flummoxed by the alien construct that so boldly addressed him.

" _What_ are you?!"

* * *

The mysterious woman hunched over in pain, soon after their arrival to a lakeside clearing, via Raiden's teleportation. A sensation akin to knives jutted through her chest and stomach came and went every few minutes.

"Ohh, man," she groaned. "I forget sometimes what a _literal_ pain in the butt regeneration can be."

"Regeneration," Raiden pensively echoed. "Who are you? Where is Margie? And why are you dressed like her?"

"I _am_ her," she told him. "I wasn't very open with you about my _true_ self during the tournament. I'm a Time Lady from Gallifrey, and my _real_ name is Neas. I only passed myself off as an Earth human because I wanted to prove myself worthy of being a hero again."

Raiden pondered on her reasoning. "This shapeshifting ability you possess…it is very much like…" Struck with revelation, the Elder God broke into fighting stance, electricity sparkling ferociously from his clenched fists. "Of course! I should have known you to be Shang Tsung this entire time!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" She promptly protested. "I'm _not_ Shang Tsung! I don't actually change my face at will – only when I'm severely injured or on the verge of death do I regenerate… _change_ into a different person. When I was Margie, and Goro beat me to a pulp, I got so damaged that I just had to change, or else I would've died."

Wirt and Greg witnessed this exchange intently. It was so much like something out of a film that they could not turn away before finding out what would happen next.

Raiden remained skeptical of this enigmatic woman's explanation.

In the heat of the moment, she doubled over again by the lake, coughing out a golden mist of energy.

It was a trait uncommon from Shang Tsung and enough to convince Raiden of the woman's story. His body relaxed, his fists unclenched, and the electricity extinguished.

In her huddled position over the lake, the woman saw her new face looking back at her for the first time. "This regeneration is _way_ more ethnic than the last," she curiously reflected. "Definitely Asian, presumably a hint of German from the skin coloration, and undeniably American by the accent. Maybe I chose this look from an infatuation with Liu Kang."

She straightened herself, removing the shirt of her karate gi to expose a black sports bra and defined arms and abdominal muscles.

Wirt shielded Greg's eyes with his left hand, preventing his little half-brother from seeing the shirtless female.

"Much tighter than the last body, too," she said, flexing her arms and abs. "Guess I still want myself to be a warrior."

Greg ducked under Wirt's hand shield, getting another clear gaze.

"More like a _princess_ warrior," he flattered.

"Awe, thanks," she gushed. "I'm gonna need a new name with this body, because I've _way_ overgrown 'Margie.'"

"Aren't _you_ in luck," Greg joyously said. "Because I've been coming up with names for this frog I found earlier. I can do the same for you."

Hands on her hips, the woman smiled to the child.

"O.K.," she permitted. "Hit me."

Greg moved in closer to her, circling around.

Wirt could only cover his face in embarrassment, allowing his half-brother to proceed with such a scene.

After prolonged consideration, Greg finally settled on "Lindsay."

Without a second thought, the woman agreed to it.

"I love it," she approved. "Thanks, lil' guy."

"Respectfully, we must dispense of this discussion," Raiden stepped in. "Goro still hunts for us in this realm. With Marg— _Lindsay's_ new body, she must defeat him."

"And I intend on doing just that," Lindsay proclaimed, "but there's something first I gotta do."

From her right pocket, she pulled out a screwdriver-shaped device, aiming it to the air. It whirred, emitting a crimson-colored light from its tip.

Shortly afterward, a heavy humming, grinding sound reverberated over the lakefront.

Wirt, Greg, and Raiden were equally astonished to see a tall, rectangular black solid manifest nearby them.

"Are you _certain_ you are not a sorceress?" Raiden asked.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four: Gizmo, the Lifelong Companion**

Skips witnessed much in his immortal life.

For this rationale, and his reputable knowledge of Time Lord Technology, he should not have been so awestruck at the console room of Neas's T.A.R.D.I.S.

And yet, he was.

"Whoa," he articulated.

"Still quite the eyeful, isn't it?" Neas teased, positioning himself at the controls to begin the recalibrations.

"It is _really_ big on the inside," the yeti appraised.

"I'd give you the whole tour, but there's too much that needs to be done at the moment," Neas said, his eyes glued to the console. "Those creatures broke out inside the T.A.R.D.I.S. and went right away to tearing everything apart. Thankfully, it's nothing that can't be repaired."

"What creatures were they?"

"Gremlins."

Snaps and pops resonating within the console drove the Time Lord away from the controls. They were not from his fiddling, which only implored him more to crouch down and pry open a ventilation cover beneath the panel. The intricate wiring exposed, he located a familiar small, furry white-and-brown creature tangled up. Its pointy ears drooped sadly in being discovered.

"Aww, Giz," Neas tenderly said.

He reached in and helped set the poor little creature free.

Bringing it out, he heard it cry in a petite voice, "Bright light! Bright light!"

"Oh!" Neas yelped over his carelessness. "I'm so sorry, Giz."

Quickly, he hid the creature into his leather jacket before turning a large knob on the console that dimmed the room lighting.

"There," said Neas, taking his little companion out from his jacket and cradling it in his arms like a baby. "Much better, right?"

Skips watched him treat the unusual creature with the utmost kindness.

"What _is_ that?" He pointed and questioned.

"It's my Mogwai," replied Neas.

"What's a Mogwai?"

The Time Lord shrugged. "Truthfully, I have no idea. I've held responsibility over lil' Gizmo here since I had my original body…"

* * *

 **Eight Incarnations Ago…**

Candace was relieved to escape the busy Chinatown street corner just as soon as she reached inside an antique store. Thanks to the translation circuits in her T.A.R.D.I.S., she knew this for certain. The Chinese symbols imprinted on the entrance door deciphered "Wing's Antiques."

Candles lit much of the shop.

The antiques were almost as old as she was.

She recognized a few from visits to time periods on Earth with the Doctor. An ancient gold dragon chalice here, a samurai sword there. If she had the money, she would purchase the chalice and find a place for it in the T.A.R.D.I.S. as a memento. She foresaw many to come in her new journey ahead.

On her arrival, Mr. Wing – the elderly shopkeeper – was engaged in an argument with his grandson, a boy who looked to heavily embrace the American culture in his New York Yankees baseball cap.

"You should not have sold Mogwai to that inventor," Wing told his grandson.

"But, Grandfather, we made two hundred dollars from him!"

"Mogwai dangerous to society. Just listen."

Wing turned up the volume on an old radio near them.

Candace's ears perked at the unusual broadcast: calls of strange creatures terrorizing a town by the name of Kingston Falls. At first, the radio D.J. believed the calls to be a hoax, inappropriate to the Christmas season, until he himself was attacked on-air.

"You see the danger that comes in irresponsibility over Mogwai?" Wing scolded to his grandson. "It must be brought back here, where it is safe."

Admittedly, curiosity got the better of Candace.

"I'll get this Mogwai for you, sir," she said, making her presence there in the antique shop known.

His eyes, mismatched in color with one pale blind eye and the other dark brown, centered on her.

She stiffened like a board from the judgmental stare they gave.

"You can trust me," she added, hoping to change his expression.

Wing's demeanor did shift to slight amusement, chuckling at her assurance.

"Trust what caused misfortune," he said. "Trust betrayed by inventor…and grandson. They do with Mogwai what society has done with all of nature's gifts: they do not understand."

Candace snickered. "Tell me about it. A prime example in the corruption of Earth humans."

Her intriguing statement drew much interest in Wing, his focus on the middle-aged woman growing with more intent. He advanced on her, shadowed by her distinguished height. She was rather fit for her age, her biceps stretching the sleeves of her long red knitted coat. She carried the appearance of a fierce warrior, even in her beautifully aging face.

But there was something more that caught his eye.

"You are not of this world?"

The jig was up. Curse that Gallifreyan pride of hers!

"No," she confessed to the old shopkeeper. "I'm _not_ from Earth."

He smiled big. "Neither is Mogwai."

Candace could not determine if it was useful information or not. By the species name alone, she figured that much out on her own.

"I make deal with you," Wing obliged. "You retrieve Mogwai from Kingston Falls, I give him to you."

She balked at the proposal. "Give him to _me_?! Why would you allow me to have responsibility over a dangerous alien?"

"Mogwai only dangerous when in care of human beings…and, as you say, _not_ from Earth."

* * *

It was with great reluctance that Candace accepted the old shopkeeper's deal.

She was not even certain what to anticipate in this "Mogwai" of his, if such an animal of intergalactic origin was capable of terrorizing an entire town. Undoubtedly, dumping it off on the moon would be the first thing she would do after capturing it.

Her T.A.R.D.I.S. materialized at the snowy town square of Kingston Falls.

The horrifying aftermath of a riot was an unwelcoming sight upon stepping out from her ship.

Vehicles and Christmas trees were overturned or burning, shop windows were broken, and vulgar graffiti was spread across the sides of buildings. It was hard to imagine one being could cause so much destruction.

 _I might as well be back in the war_ , Candace ruminated.

Further past the apocalyptic scene, she spotted a police station.

It was the best place to begin.

She hustled her way there, hoping that the town's sheriff or his deputy were available to offer assistance, if they were not already on the case.

To her disappointment, walking inside, the station was devoid of any activity – save for one teenager with dark curly hair and a bandaged, bleeding hand. He looked directly across the dimly lit space towards Candace, practically amazed to see her there.

"Who are you?" He asked.

"Someone here to help," she answered, frowning on the boy's disheveled appearance. "What on earth happened to you?"

Her inquiry confused him. "You mean you haven't seen what's happened outside?"

"I know from the radio that you have a gremlin problem."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Finally, _someone_ believes what's going on. I tried to convince Sheriff Frank and Deputy Brent, but they didn't believe me, not even after I showed them Gizmo."

"Gizmo?" Candace repeated the name in curiosity.

"He's a pet my father gave me as a Christmas present," the boy said. "A Mogwai."

Candace smirked. This was just the kid she was looking for.

"What's your name?" She enquired to him.

"Billy," he replied. "Billy Peltzer."

"Well, Billy, I should let you know that I'm here just for that Mogwai, seeing that he's the leader of these vicious gremlins," she spoke with much authority, hoping it would make her mission easier.

"Gizmo is _not_ their leader. He only made them when he was accidentally splashed with water. They multiply when they're wet. C'mon, I'll show you how one's _supposed_ to look like."

He led her into the sheriff's office, which seemed even dimmer compared with the rest of the station.

Melodic chirping sounded from within the darkened room.

There was just enough lighting for Candace to see what made it: a tiny, furry brown-and-white creature with large, pointy pinkish ears.

It sat on the sheriff's desk, squeaking its sweet serenade.

Candace's hearts softened when her eyes met with those of the Mogwai.

"He's…precious."

She was hard-pressed to believe such a charming living being could be as dangerous as Mr. Wing made it out to be.

"It's only when they're fed after midnight when they turn vicious," Billy informed her. "Look, I don't know who sent you or where you came from, but we've got to stop these things or they'll destroy the entire town!"

The young man's dread was evident in his address.

If Candace was the only hope he had in this dire time, then she no longer had the option of turning back.

"Let's get to my T.A.R.D.I.S., so we can discover the exact locations of these gremlins," she instructed.

Billy frowned. "Your…what?!"

* * *

A few short moments later, he got his clarification on the unfamiliar dwelling when he stepped into it.

"It's bigger on the inside," observed the daunted teenager.

"Bright light! Bright light!"

Candace heard the little Mogwai crying out in Billy's green backpack.

"What does he mean?"

"It's the lights," Billy explained. "They can kill him."

The Time Lady jolted in alert at this, hurriedly motioning over the controls and dimming the console room's radiance to a more accommodating level. In response, Gizmo's tiny furred head poked out of the backpack, surveying the large new space.

"If it's lights that can kill his evil brothers, then that might be our best defense," Candace tactfully noted. "How did you say they looked after their midnight feeding?"

"Green and scaly with fangs," Billy depicted. "A lot like bipedal lizards."

Candace proceeded to input his description into the T.A.R.D.I.S. computer.

"O.K.," she confidently said. "Now we just use the scanners to pinpoint their precise spot in the town."

The view screen scrambled on, projecting the disturbing footage of venomous monsters fitting in with Billy's interpretation creating mass havoc throughout Kingston Falls. The live feed played from assorted areas, including one that Billy recognized.

"Wait, that's Dorry's Tavern!" Billy cried. "Kate's working there right now!"

They could see the raucous scene that unfolded onscreen.

A multitude of gremlins getting drunk off alcohol, smoking an entire pack of cigarettes, and performing in other foul activities around a young barmaid who could only satisfy their needs to keep herself from harm.

"We've gotta help her!" Billy pleaded.

"Don't worry," Candace reassured. "In the T.A.R.D.I.S., we can reach her in less than a few—"

"Man! This place is _awesome_!"

Turning her attention to the new party that entered the picture, Candace was disconcerted to find an anthropomorphic raccoon snooping his way in.

"What're _you_ doing here?!"

* * *

 **Present Time**

"Rigby! You just interrupted an important story!"

"Sorry, Skips, but it wasn't _my_ idea to come here."

Neas and Skips noticed the rest of the park crew following after Rigby.

"How is this even possible?!" Benson questioned of the differentiation in inner and outer dimensions. "It was no bigger than a fountain outside, but inside it's…it doesn't make sense!"

The last to enter was a fully conscious Shel.

She rushed immediately over to Neas, seeing Gizmo in his arms and taking the Mogwai into hers.

"Oh, Giz, you O.K., lil' guy?" She asked, deeply concerned.

"I found him hiding in the inner workings of the console," Neas told her. "He was scared half to death."

"Can't blame the poor lil' thing," said Shel, "after the gremlin attack that brought us here in the first place."

"Gremlin attack?!" A perturbed Mordecai squealed.

Unexpectedly, a distinctive, sonorous, ringing sound resembling a large church bell resounded all over.

"What _is_ that?!" Muscle Man yelled over the deafening racket.

Neas and Shel focused on each other, exchanging worrisome gazes.

"Danger," they unanimously responded.


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five: The Looney and the Wondrous**

There was a room typically known to be in a T.A.R.D.I.S. called "The Zero Room," used by Time Lords during moments of a difficult regeneration or in need of rapid recuperation.

Such a room existed in the Type-Z, though Neas barely made use of it.

Not until her seventh regeneration – Rhyanna.

A fair-skinned woman physically in her early thirties, she acquired long, straight blond hair that was a bit wild when not tied into a ponytail, as well as a strong Australian accent. In over a hundred years since regenerating, she could not figure out how she inherited the latter.

By the flexible, athletic figure that came with it all, her subconscious seemed destine to remind her that she was still the Gladiator.

With Gizmo serving as her only companion in the infinite dimensional corridor, and the endless, tedious hours cooped up in the T.A.R.D.I.S., her most feasible pastime was yoga in the zero room.

It was how she achieved tranquility in this incarnation.

Her previous lives were constantly caught up in the adventure and excitement; all she desired was peace and quiet.

From her headstand position, it was rather challenging to determinate what was up or down by the zero room's mesmerizing design.

Perfectly leveled against one of the walls, her well-rounded buttocks – heightened by tight purple/blue yoga shorts – slightly pressed against one of the decorative roundels.

Steadied breathing, brought out from her resilient lungs, was all that resonated within the room. Her abdomen relaxed and tightened in correspondence.

Drops of sweat tapped to the floor space around her; a lack of proper air-conditioning to accommodate the stimulating exercise.

Across from her sat Gizmo, who might as well be sitting on the ceiling from her upside-down viewpoint. He enjoyed every second in watching her strain her body to the limit. For his presence, she reduced the zero room lighting.

She lost count in how long she kept herself in headstand position but recognized it to be enough time to bring herself out of it.

Slowly, she lowered her legs, spreading them out in front of her, so that her buttocks would now face the ceiling. In flawless motion, she reversed into a complete split. Her drenched hair dangled over her face and shoulders. She looked to Gizmo, her visage of the little Mogwai barred by moist strands.

"How was that, Giz?"

He garbled with applause.

Rhyanna giggled. "Aww. Thank you."

She stood, moving to her tiny companion and picking him up to cradle lovingly in her arms.

"You've been the only real friend in my travels, Giz. Everyone else leaves eventually, and I go shootin' off my way with you. Where would I be without you?"

She smooched his small, furry head and headed out with him.

Returning inside the console room, she set Gizmo down on one of the platform chairs before acting on the controls, taking the T.A.R.D.I.S. out of the dimensional corridor.

"Now let's see where we are," she said, switching on the view screen.

A colorful forest filled the large, wide monitor.

Noting the abundance of daylight, she elected, "Better I go out there myself, Giz. You hold down the fort for me, won't ya?"

Seeing the Mogwai nod in acceptance of his task, she gathered her black hoodie and white tennis shoes from the chair beside Gizmo, putting them on prior to her departure from the T.A.R.D.I.S.

Out of the dusky console room and into the lush sunlight, it took a moment for her aquamarine eyes to adjust.

It had been eons since her last venture out of the T.A.R.D.I.S.

After taking a couple of steps, she heard gunfire close by.

"I'm gonna get you, you wasically wabbit and scwewy duck," she heard an angry voice say, suffering from quite the case of rhoticism.

She crouched low and crawled through bushes, making careful sure not to make much noise that would attract attention. Once she was well-hidden, she peeped out to see an egg-headed, big-game hunter with a double-barreled shotgun, chasing a gray-and-white rabbit and a black-feathered, orange-billed duck.

The hunt halted at a towering tree where a large sign reading "Duck Season" was nailed to the bark.

"Hold it, doc," the rabbit said to the hunter, speaking with a thick New York accent. "Ya gettin' it all wrong. Dis ain't rabbit season. It's _duck_ season." He gestured with his white-gloved thumb to the sign.

"Nonsense," defied the duck with a slobbery, exaggerated lisp. "Anyone with eyes, ears, and a brain can tell you that it's precisely _rabbit_ season!" To prove this, he brazenly ripped the sign off, revealing the "Rabbit Season" notice underneath.

"Duck season!" The rabbit tore off the new sign, uncovering yet another.

"Rabbit season!" Just as the rabbit, the duck revealed another for the aforementioned period.

This amusing spectacle went on for twenty more signs.

Rhyanna covered her mouth to keep from the characters hearing her explode with laughter in the bushes.

But then another type of explosion entirely brought the farce to a fiery conclusion.

The familiar register of a Dalek death ray disengaging resonated through Rhyanna's ears before seeing the tree that the rabbit and duck stood beside erupt into a flaming cinder.

Soon thereafter, a black-and-gold Dalek strolled into the enclosure, its gun aimed steadily towards the three animated characters.

"Oh, no," whispered Rhyanna, recognizing this particular Dalek as the one that hunted her through the dimensional corridor since the Time War.

"Well, dere's a twist," said the rabbit of the metallic creature. "Didn't know Marvin dah Martian was makin' a guest appearance."

"I REQUIRE INFORMATION ON THE LOCATION OF THE TIME LORD KNOWN AS GLADIATOR," screeched Dalek Vec.

The hunter, rabbit, and duck were noticeably dumbfounded.

"Eh, not seen any 'gladiators' 'round here, doc," the rabbit notified.

"THEN YOU SERVE NO IMPORTANCE TO MY MISSION! YOU WILL BE EXTERMINATED!"

"What?!" The duck maniacally shouted. "You can't kill us just because we have no idea what you're talking about!"

"I CAN! I WILL! I AM A DALEK!"

The duck turned to the hunter that earlier was the only predator in those woods, now turned into one of the prey.

"You just gonna _stand_ there and let this tin can wipe us out?!" The duck said. "Shoot 'im! Shoot 'im _now_!"

Doing what he was suggested to do, the big-game hunter took aim.

Unfortunately, the Dalek was swift in retaliation, not allowing the egg-headed human have first shot. It unleashed its death ray and, in cartoon fashion, the hunter's charred body dissipated to a pile of ashes, his stunned eyes sitting on top of it.

The rabbit gulped, perceiving himself and the duck next in the line of fire.

"Well, Daffy," he said, "we had a good run. Shame tah see it end now."

"You said it, Bugs." Daffy whimpered. "It was nice knowin' ya, brother."

The two shook hands, making their amends on the brink of death.

Rhyanna could not stand to let such fun and lovable (albeit looney) characters be exterminated.

"HEY!" She screamed out from the bushes. "Over here, you nasty bugger!"

It turned to the foliage, blasting away.

She lied down low to the ground, crawling through the interconnecting thickets as quickly as possible.

"SHOW YOURSELF! SHOW YOURSELF!" The Dalek yelled while continuously blasting into the encompassing vegetation.

Bugs and Daffy were frozen in terror, neither knowing what move to make in the sudden turn of events.

Thankfully, one was made for him, thanks to a pair of hands gripping them from behind and hauling them into a section of the shrubbery that Dalek Vec had yet to blast into. They found themselves face-to-face with their rescuer: a young blonde in a black hoodie and yoga shorts.

"Thanks for dah classy rescue," Bugs acknowledged. "You must be dis 'gladiator' dat tin-canned menace is lookin' for."

"Let's turn her in!" Daffy thoughtlessly recommended.

"Daffy, she just _saved_ our lives. We'd be joinin' Elmer in dah great beyond, if it weren't for her rescue."

"What rescue?!" The duck countered. "We're still hiding in the bushes, giving that thing opportunity in frying us!"

"My T.A.R.D.I.S. isn't far from here," Rhyanna alerted. "If we crawl out undetected, we can make it there just fine."

She led them out, but not while Bugs first asked, "What dah heck is a T.A.R.D.I.S.?"

Wildfire spread over the enclosure from the unceasing death ray.

It strengthened around Rhyanna, Bugs, and Daffy in their sprint, coughing through the developing smoke that burned their lungs and watered their eyes. They barely made the trip before Dalek Vec ultimately spotted them through the engulfing flames.

"EXTERMINATE!" It repeatedly shrieked, mowing over the blazing flora.

Rhyanna did not have to see the monster to know it caught onto them. Her attention was solely on getting the T.A.R.D.I.S. doors open, which she achieved courtesy of her sonic screwdriver.

Witnessing their successful retreat into the Gallifreyan capsule, Dalek Vec made the desperate last resort of firing a single blast. It whizzed by the three escaping targets, striking the control console inside.

The cloister bell rang.

Without caution, the T.A.R.D.I.S. doors closed, inadvertently catching Daffy's tail feathers in the process.

Rhyanna recognized the Type-Z's hasty takeoff as an emergency dematerialization, or the H.A.D.S. ("Hostile Action Displacement System"). A defense mechanism in which the unit dematerialized the T.A.R.D.I.S. and rematerialized it a short, safe distance away.

However, the Type-Z was dramatically dissimilar.

Rather than a short distance away, it dematerialized the T.A.R.D.I.S. back into the dimensional corridor.

Making matters worse for the current passengers was the setback in an absence of stability. The Type-Z spiraled out of control down the corridor. Rhyanna, Bugs, Daffy, and Gizmo tumbled all over the spinning console room, their free-moving bodies smacking against the walls, ceiling, and railings.

It was only when Rhyanna's body reached the control console that she ended the insanity, stabilizing her T.A.R.D.I.S. and taking it out of the dimensional corridor altogether.

"Is everybody alright?" She asked, after the pandemonium settled.

Bugs wobbled back to his feet. "So, you do this often?"

Rhyanna chortled, relieved to see the rabbit's sense of humor unscathed.

"Let's find out where the T.A.R.D.I.S. has taken us _this_ time," she said, switching on the scanner.

The view screen flashed on, but due to the splatter that was Daffy Duck's body across it, none of them could see the outside feed.

"I got this," Bugs proclaimed, stepping right up to the splatter and scraping him off the screen.

At last, they could see their new setting on display: the large hall of a castle.

"Where are we? The Middle Ages?" Bugs queried.

"Doubtful," Rhyanna replied. "Though the T.A.R.D.I.S. _can_ travel through time. The very word is in its name."

Her instinct was proven to be on-point with the gathering of youths in peculiar school uniforms, looking on the T.A.R.D.I.S. in wonderment and uncertainty.

"From dah look of things, we've attracted some _local_ attention," Bugs indicated.

"Idol worshippers!" A recovering Daffy roared in jubilation.

"Who-do-what-now?" Bugs babbled.

The overjoyed duck pointed to the on-screen minorities. "Look at those astonished faces," he said. "They're just dying to worship _us_!"

Bugs palmed his face in annoyance. "Oh, bruddah."

Rhyanna jerked once she heard the T.A.R.D.I.S. doors kicked open. She was not certain how Daffy did it, but he did before making his way out into the new atmosphere.

"Oh, no, no!" She exclaimed, following after the foolish fowl. "Bad idea!"

Bugs watched them both leave, shaking his head disapprovingly.

"What a maroon," the rabbit murmured.

Alone inside the console room, he took in the peaceful silence – a welcoming resonance after the last few harrowing minutes.

Of course, not all was silent.

Faint whimpering prickled his long ears, bringing his focus to the nearest corner.

There, he caught sight of a small, furry creature nursing its left arm.

"Hey, lil' fella," he calmly approached the critter. "You O.K.?"

* * *

"Greetings, dwellers! My name is Daffy Duck, but you may address me as 'Lord Duck Dodgers'! My beautiful Aussie companion and I are idols from beyond the endless cosmos and have come to liberate your world from…uh…the tyranny of bad school uniforms! In exchange, you will pay us handsomely in whatever wealth and riches you got lying around! So…have we got a deal?"

Rhyanna hid her face deep into her hands, embarrassed and ashamed.

The uniformed adolescents surrounding them were speechless until every one of them busted into laughter.

"How thick you think we are, mate?" One student with flaming red hair rhetorically inquired.

"Wannabe first years," labeled another with sleek white-blond hair. "So desperate to get in late in the year, they pull a pathetic stunt like this."

"Shut it, Malfoy!" A girl with long, bushy brown hair blurted in a bossy sort of voice. Holding her schoolbooks close to her bosom, she closed in on Daffy and Rhyanna and advised, "It _would_ be wise to come back and try again later before Dumbledore finds either of you here and forbids you from ever coming back."

Rhyanna scowled. "But we're not stu—"

" _WHAT ARE YOU_ _DOING_ _HERE?!_ "

The infuriated female voice, accented in Northern English, echoed the hall.

Everyone quaked in reaction to it, particularly the students, who believed it to have been one of the professors catching them out of their rooms so close to curfew.

They parted as soon as a young, statuesque blonde with fair skin and gleaming blue eyes entered the scene, dressed in the same black, loose-fitting robe as the other students assembled there.

She threateningly advanced solely on Rhyanna, who backed ever so cautiously.

"Tell me why your big, sweaty bum is here at Hogwarts?!" The girl ever-so-rudely interrogated her.

Rhyanna eyed her curiously. "Do I… _know_ you?"

The young blonde let out an aggravated groan. "How could I be so thick? Of course you don't know me _yet_."

"Maureen," addressed a boy with round-rimmed glasses and a lightning-bolt-shaped scar, "do you know these strangers?"

"In a word – yes," Maureen verified. "In three _more_ words – so to speak."

"Somebody help," called a voice from inside the looming, rectangular solid behind Rhyanna and Daffy.

Bugs zipped out, carrying an injured furry creature in his arms.

"I think dis lil' guy's broken his arm," he told the group.

Maureen's brow furrowed in concern for the tiny ball of fur curled up in the rabbit's arms. "Gizmo," she softly breathed.

Rhyanna heard clearly enough to mentally question the young girl's noteworthy recognition of the Mogwai.

"Hermione," Maureen turned to the bushy-haired girl, "how are you with perfecting that healing potion?"

Hermione hesitated with a response. "I…I've given it a bit of practice, but I don't think I…"

"I'll give ya a nudge," Maureen hastily encouraged. "I'll get us the necessary ingredients and meet you in Harry and Ron's dormitory. _Hurry!_ " She then centered on Rhyanna, Bugs, and Daffy. "As for you three, you go with them and _don't_ stop for sightseein'!"

By these commands, the congregation dispersed from the hall.


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six: Goonies 'R' Good Enough**

Flight Lieutenant Skeeta Jenkins woke with a snort.

His clean-shaven head hung back as he sat in what he believed to be the cockpit seat of his P-51 Mustang, having engaged in dogfight with German fighters.

But he was not in his Mustang, nor was he engaged with any Germans.

He awakened inside of a large, brightly-colored area with technology beyond the era he previously occupied. At the center of it was a circular control console; beyond that, a large view screen with an alien insignia affixed above it.

The World War II flight lieutenant felt an intense restraint over him, looking down to see himself shackled to one of the chairs on the console platform. Steel cuffs around his wrists and one large band over his waist.

Then he discovered that he was not alone.

A pigtailed Caucasian blonde with a fresh, young face – burdened by a black eyepatch worn across her left eye – was crouched beside him; her one good eye attentively gawking right at him with a large, warm smile. Skeeta found her rather peculiar, not just from the distracting grin but her attire as well. She seemed to have some fixation with birds – her white, frizzled dress adorned with print of various fowls, quills, and birdcages, and one actual birdcage strapped atop her head.

"Hello," he greeted her.

The strange girl did not answer.

He tried not to let it stop him from making further conversation: "My name's Skeeta. What's yours?"

"Teacher," the girl enthusiastically answered.

Skeeta nodded, smirking. "That's a rather… _intriguing_ name for a young lady."

He spoke in jest, of course.

It was enough of a start in forming some sort of discussion…or so he thought.

"Teacher! Teacher! Teacher!" She continuously said with more vigor than before.

After a while, Skeeta grew confused with her constant exclamations of that one term. "I don't understand," he steadily told her. "Who're you talking about? Me? I've never met you before in my life."

"GEN!"

The assertive voice of a middle-aged woman thundered from across the room, attracting enough of the girl's attention to silence her.

Skeeta ascertained the speaker to have entered from his right.

He nearly diverted his eyes the second he took notice in her revealing attire.

Stilettos clicked on the hard floor, as the older woman stepped onto the console platform. Her godlike, defined figure imposed over the cowering young one-eyed girl she addressed as "Gen."

"What did I tell you about bothering our guest?" She chastised, as if Gen were her own child. "Return to your spot! _Now!_ "

Like a dog to its master, Gen obeyed, crawling and recoiling in the shadow beneath the control console. She hugged her legs close to her body, rocking back and forth.

This new woman brushed back her long, flowing brown locks and focused on Skeeta. "I apologize for my young friend's odd behavior," she said. "She recently had an episode with a magic ring and is now a full-fledged fruit loop."

She stood uncomfortably close to Skeeta, the majestic, flowery scent of her perfume seeping into his nostrils. There were not many women from his time who dressed down as much as this one had with only a black thong, embellished leg covers, and a long-sleeved, layered crop top.

"I'm Sanders," she presented. "It's a name I felt fit with the body, even though it reminds me of the colonel from the chicken place. The name, not the body."

His brow furrowed at the oddity in her words. "I don't understand. You chose your name because of your body?"

Sanders playfully slapped her forehead. "Duh! How silly of me to forget to tell you that I'm a Time Lady!"

Skeeta squirmed in his chair more discomfortingly. "I…I'm not familiar with that designation. A-Are you some type of alien?"

She giggled with amusement at the African-American gentleman.

"Oh, I think you know _exactly_ what I'm talking about, Skeet."

From out of her right leg cover, she retrieved a pen-like device – her sonic screwdriver.

She aimed it between her well-rounded breasts, activating it with a low whirring register. Soon afterward, Skeeta heard overlapping heartbeats resound from the speakers built within the room.

"That's the beats of my two hearts you're hearing," Sanders identified. "The heartbeats of a true, full-bloodied Time Lady."

She then directed the tip of her sonic screwdriver to Skeeta's chest.

Brisk corresponding heartbeats rang through the speakers.

"And that's _your_ heartbeats," she revealed to him. "Now you're more familiar with a 'Time Lord' than a 'Time Lady,' right? It _is_ what you are."

Skeeta blew a defeated breath. "You got me. Satisfied?"

"Only if you tell me that you remember one child of Gallifrey by the name of 'Neas,'" she required.

Hesitant in answering at first, Skeeta denied, "No, I don't."

Sanders sulked. "Well, that is a shame. Because she can certainly use your help right about now."

"And how's that?"

"A powerful hunter Dalek has been tailing her since she deserted from Gallifrey all those years before the Time War ended. And _you_ , fine sir, know exactly how to defeat it, because it was _you_ who pioneered the same interdimensional technology for a T.A.R.D.I.S. that the Daleks used on their golden boy."

Astounded from her keen awareness, Skeeta bellowed, "How do you know about my work in interdimensional travel?"

Sanders coyly beamed. "Because you're sitting right in your one and only Type-Z prototype." She leaned in close to his increasingly overwhelmed mug and antagonistically inquired, "Now are you gonna help me _kill_ this thing or not?"

* * *

Upon a coastal hillside in Astoria, Oregon stood a thirty-something blonde in a black long coat, its tail whipped by the fall breeze. Her crystal blue eyes were fixated on the ancient, wooden green mask she held in her trembling hands. She wished it was the chilly air compelling her grip on the remnant to quiver; in actuality, her anguish influenced it.

For as long as she had been living in this seventh incarnation, which she aptly named "Mandy," she was careful not to allow herself to be too attached to any artifacts uncovered from her journeys. Gizmo was the only exception, a relic in his own special way – her longest companion, incapable of aging nearly as much as she could.

This one, on the other hand, was different in the most calamitous way.

"Hey, Mandy!"

Her hearts skipped. Her grip on the mask nearly slipping out of her fingers and down over the steep hill.

Clarence Wendell, her fun-loving, spirited, and pudgy companion.

That sprightly energy of his was a curse and a blessing all the same.

She could not be angry with him because of the angst this mask put her through.

"Yes, sweetheart?" She asked of her lively companion.

"Did you do it? Did you bury Mr. Ipkiss's mask like you promised him?"

Clarence had been her companion in recent days, drawn to her T.A.R.D.I.S. one day after school and instantly captivated.

 _One trip and it's back home._

That was the rule she laid out.

Clarence was only ten years old. He had family, friends, and a future to hold onto. None of that was worth the danger of traveling through parallel dimensions in space and time.

Yet it was danger they found in one city, within one world, by the name of Edge City. There, they met Stanley Ipkiss – a mild-mannered, down-on-his-luck bank clerk whose life was flipped upside down from the same wooden mask Mandy was in possession of.

Following an escapade involving vicious gangster and unearthly magic, she promised Stanley to take the mask as far away as possible and bury it in whatever hole she could dig up.

Instead, in a foolhardy gesture, she buried it deep within the left side pocket of her long black coat.

"Of course, I did," she fibbed to a child.

"Yay!" Clarence cheered. "Now we can go on another adventure!"

"Oh, no, no," she rejected. "We're taking your little butt back home, mister."

Clarence pouted. "But you said…"

"I said 'one trip,' and I _mean_ one trip. Do you want to go through the same nightmare we did back in Edge City?"

"That wasn't a nightmare. That was a dream come true."

Mandy sighed. "Clarence, honey, don't you miss your mom? Or Sumo? Or Jeff?"

He timidly looked down, trailing the tip of his right foot along the grass.

Sensing the conflict in him, Mandy knew she was successfully getting through.

"Listen, sweetie," she said, "I know you have your own special – and perhaps weird – sense of 'having fun,' but my life is just not safe for a lil' guy like you. You could really get hurt, and I wouldn't want that on my conscious. Understand?"

He did not verify, remaining absolutely quiet in staring towards the grass.

For a moment, she worried of having broken the poor child's spirit, which was not her intention.

Then she received her clarification when Clarence rushed right up to her and embraced her by the waist. "You're the best alien friend any kid like me could ask for," he said, crying into the fabric of the tight grey sweater dress she wore beneath her coat.

His sentiment touched both of her hearts.

How could she possibly part ways with him after _that_?

Clarence's sobbing was suddenly drowned out by heavy humming and grinding.

"Hey, that sounds a lot like your time and space machine thing," Clarence noted.

Mandy shook her head, grimacing. "Can't be. Mine's still orbiting this planet."

Her keen range detected the familiar noise to come from beyond a small collection of trees. She and Clarence scuttled there, spotting an identical Type-Z T.A.R.D.I.S. in the glade, smoke seeping from its exterior.

"Why's it smoking?" Clarence questioned.

"I don't know, sweetheart."

"Only one way to find out."

Clarence skipped ahead to the panic of Mandy, who pleaded the child to come back, but to no avail.

He was already knocking on the smoking solid in less than a minute.

"Hello in there," he said. "Checkin' to see if you're O.K."

To their surprise, the Type-Z's doors opened outward to Clarence's call.

Mandy joined at his side to see just who it was inside the capsule.

They backed away from the seeping puffs of black smoke, accompanied by the collection of passengers piling out into the fresh air, coughing and spitting. Neither Clarence nor Mandy could believe how bizarre some of them were in their appearance, such as a walking and talking blue jay, raccoon, yeti, and gumball machine, as well as a ghost, green-skinned man, and one with a lollipop-shaped head.

"Oh, my gosh," Clarence cried. "There's a fire! Someone call the fire department!"

"It's O.K., Clarence," said the tall black man in the group, dressed as a Tuskegee airman. "There's no fire – at least, not anymore, there isn't."

Clarence questionably glowered at him. "Hey, how do you know my name? I've never seen you before my whole life."

"Good question," Mandy muttered, frowning as well.

Her eyes met with a young auburn-haired girl in blue skinny jeans and a grey t-shirt gathered with the other travelers of the smoking Type-Z, and she caught a distinguishing Mogwai swaddled up in the girl's plaid shirt.

"Gizmo?" Mandy whispered.

It then dawned on her who and most importantly _what_ this girl was.

"Well, bless my soul," she fervently said. "My future standing right in front of me." She approached the girl, warmly embracing her, careful not to smother Gizmo in-between them. "The Doctor once told me how easy it was to run into yourself when traveling through time and space. What name you chose for this regeneration?"

"Shel," the girl answered.

Mandy merrily tittered. "I love it. Short for 'Michelle,' I suppose. But I love it regardless." She centered on the entertaining group of characters that scurried out with Shel. "I'm impressed with the companions you've made. They're certainly an _interesting_ bunch, especially the World War II airman of color."

The eyes of the aforementioned pilot flared. " _Airman of color_? Seriously?"

She amusingly grinned over his reaction. "No need to be so hot, big man. I'm only complimenting you on your service." She sincerely added, "I'll admit that I forget how race is a sensitive issue for people from your time. My bad on that."

Shel did her best to stifle a laugh.

"For your information, this face of chocolate handsomeness you see happens to be another from your _imminent_ future," the airman told Mandy.

From this news, she was even more impressed by the gentleman.

"Really now?" She teasingly remarked. "A _male_ regeneration – a tall, dark one at that. Though I do wonder about the World War II getup."

"I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise," he cynically said, his ire snowballing.

"And that attitude," Mandy observed, clicking her tongue. "Nice to see I'll still retain some of that wit in my old age."

"Old age?!" The airman fumed.

"Neas," Shel beckoned to him, before asking Mandy, "Where are we?"

After having her fun with Neas, Mandy transferred back to a more serious tone in her address to Shel: "You're along the coast of Astoria, Oregon."

"What?!" Benson howled. "You mean we're no longer in the Park?!"

"Relax, Benson," said a composed Rigby. "We'll just hop on a plane and be right back home in an hour tops. No biggie."

"That'll prove difficult, considering we've traveled to a-whole-nother dimension where your park _doesn't_ exist." Neas disputed.

"You're saying we're _stuck_ here?!" Mordecai panicked.

"Of course not." Shel reassured. "We can just as easily return you all back home."

The sudden violent burst of fiery sparks through the Type-Z's doors prompted her to have a grim change of opinion.

"In another decade."

Taking notice of the ravaged state in the interior of this T.A.R.D.I.S., Mandy asked, "What happened?"

"We had a gremlin problem." Skips replied.

Mandy was not at all pleased by this. "Alright. Who's the idiot that got Gizmo wet and fed his brothers after midnight?"

No one confirmed or denied responsibility, which only made Mandy suspect them even more.

"How 'bout we shelve that for a later time and focus on repairs," Neas suggested.

"With two Type Z's here in this dimension, that should be rather easy," a hopeful Shel signified.

A series of beeps went off among the three present regenerations – in the back left pocket of Shel's jeans, inside Neas's bomber jacket, and within the right pocket of Mandy's long coat.

"What noise is that?" Mordecai queried.

"Our sonic screwdrivers – it's an emergency signal." Neas explained, while he and his past and future selves each took the same device out from their respective pockets.

"What's the emergency?" Rigby probed.

Fascination filled the faces of Mandy, Neas, and Shel, gazing on their sonic screwdrivers.

" _Another_ Type-Z just materialized a few clicks from here," Mandy reported.

* * *

Minutes later, the explorers discovered where the signal emitted from: an old, abandoned summer restaurant.

"Best you guys stay by the T.A.R.D.I.S.," Neas advised the Park crew. "We don't want to scare any locals should they pass by and see your 'unique' appearances – no offense."

"Oh, no offense taken," Pops guaranteed. "We _are_ quite unusual."

"Benson," Shel said, handing her enveloped Mogwai to the gumball machine man. "Watch over Giz while I'm gone. Keep him out of the light as best you can."

Benson tried not to smile too much from this small chore she laid on him.

It was more than an excellent chance to prove himself to her.

"I'll guard him with my life," he vowed, mentally slapping himself afterward for sounding like a complete tool with such a cheesy sentiment.

Once that was taken care of, the three regenerations and Clarence proceeded on their way into the isolated diner.

At least they believed it to be so, until they sighted three adolescent boys (an Asian kid, another pudgier than Clarence with curly hair, and one other with spiky hair) sitting at one of the tables with an acrimonious old woman looming over them.

" _More_?!" The vehement woman roared in dissatisfaction, cursing subsequently in her secondary Italian tongue. "We're closed!"

"No, you're not," Clarence said. "You're serving _those_ kids."

"Junior discount," the woman venomously snapped.

"Oh, well, that is just _perfect_!" Mandy portrayed enthusiasm, energetically clinging to Neas's right arm and hugging her body against his. "My husband and I have been on the road for days with our two children."

Clarence, Shel, and Neas gawked on her, their eyes (Neas's particularly) registering enormous skepticism. Yet there was no other choice but to play along with this impromptu plan of hers.

"Yeah," uttered Shel, making use of Mandy's mock eagerness with the voice of a teenage valley girl. "I've always, like, wanted to eat in a place like this. It's so, like, far out there! Right, Daddy?"

"Oh, you betcha, my little princess!" Neas acted, mustering a very Ward Cleaver-type personality to his fatherly role.

The old woman appeared marginally pessimistic of their act.

For a second, Neas believed they would be forced to abandon the investigation – or possibly worse, judging from the aggressive way this elderly lady carried herself.

"Whatever," she said, seeming to buy into their story. "Plant yourselves down over here."

She guided them to a table across from the three boys.

While they seated, the old woman motioned over to the boys and asked, "Where's your friend? The one with the overactive bladder? He's been gone for a long time."

"May take even longer, ma'am," answered the spiky-haired boy from the trio. "Mikey had fifteen galloons of soda before we got here."

" _Sure_ he did," the old woman derided. "I'm goin' to look for him. Any one of ya even _thinks_ about wanderin' off, I'll staple your sorry little keisters right to your seats!"

Her threat did not go unrecognized by the three boys, who looked intimidated enough just from the ominous presence of the woman.

Soon after the old woman left the area, Mandy looked to the three boys and asked, "Have any of you young gentlemen happen to see a tall, black rectangular object somewhere in this repulsive place?"

"What are you talking about, lady?" The Asian kid snootily responded. "We know nothing about that."

Neas groaned. "Guess I'll just have to scout this place out myself." He instructed to Shel, Mandy, and Clarence, "Stay here and wait for me. If I don't come back in ten minutes, get back to the guys and into Mandy's T.A.R.D.I.S. and get out of here."

Shel disapproved of this plan, specifically when it counted for her previous incarnation putting himself in great danger, which consequently placed her mere existence in danger. But there was no talking him out of it.

"Just watch out for Mother Teresa back there," Mandy advised. "Somebody desperately needs to throw that woman from a train."

Neas made his way towards the back, finding a short flight of stairs leading down to the sublevel of the forgotten bistro. The lighting was poor, offering little to guide him down a murky, foul-smelling corridor.

Thankfully, the "flashlight" setting from his sonic screwdriver was enough.

Deplorably, its timing was unfavorable, as Neas turned it on at the same time he bumped into what felt like a child.

"Don't hurt me! Don't hurt me! I just got lost!"

Neas shushed him and shined his lit sonic screwdriver to the boy's face, illumining the bracelets in his teeth.

"You must be Mikey," Neas deduced.

The boy's breathing weakened from the scare, urging him to remove an inhaler from the pocket of his yellow raincoat and use it. Once he regained his breath, he gruffly returned, "Yeah, and who are you?"

"Name's Neas. Those other three boys must be your friends."

"Did that old lady send you after me?"

"No. I'm the same as you – wandering no place I should be."

"I'm not wandering," Mikey defensively said. "I'm on the hunt for something."

Neas eyed the boy's right hand, which brandished an archaic, rolled-up piece of parchment. "By the look of that map you're holding, what you're hunting is treasure," he declassified.

Mikey pocketed the parchment into his coat, giving a dissatisfied moan for allowing himself to be so careless.

"It's okay," Neas told him. "I already have my share of treasure to get me by. Whoever's _you're_ searching after can't be as much."

"You wouldn't be saying that, unless you knew One-Eyed Willy."

The Time Lord sneered. "One-Eyed Willy? The _pirate_ One-Eyed Willy? Of course I knew him. I even know where he buried his treasure, since _I_ was the one who helped him do it." His dark eyes searched skyward, reminiscing. "I met him in a previous life, that old scoundrel. I had quite the silvery hair back then, which is how he took quite the fondness in me."

His countenance marred by obliviousness from the odd ramblings of this total stranger, Mikey stepped away as slowly as he could, albeit awkwardly.

"Well, sir," he said, "I'll just be on my way and—"

Mikey ceased in both speech and movement as he heard loud, wild moaning further down the corridor.

"What the heck is that?" He questioned in fright.

Though it terrified Mikey, the horrid wailing purely sparked intrigue in Neas.

His sonic screwdriver held higher, he headed towards the howling, all while Mikey backed into the opposing route.

"What do you think it could be?" Neas grilled the frightened boy. "A werewolf? Maybe even a lost Sontaran? How great would _that_ be?"

He heard no deductions out of Mikey, not that he would have paid them any mind.

His attention was squarely on the sealed-off room at the end.

Through the porthole of a closed door, he saw a misshapen man chained to the wall with a television set as his only source of entertainment. Standing near to the left of this unfortunate human being was a Type-Z T.A.R.D.I.S., the very one that brought Neas, Shel, Mandy, and Clarence to the rundown eatery. A provocatively-dressed, middle-aged woman exited from it, in the company of a bald, black gentleman in Tuskegee attire similar to Neas's and young blonde wearing a birdcage and an eyepatch.

"Skeeta? Gen?" Neas quietly managed to identify the latter two.

Something felt all wrong about this scene.

Shel and Mandy had to be warned about it.

Turning to leave, his forehead met with a hard steel object that only in seconds did he realize to be the barrel of a gun wielded by a brisk-looking Italian man. Not far behind him, another wearing a noticeable hairpiece held Mikey at gunpoint also.

"Dead end, Ace."


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven: The NeverEnding Story**

"Um, o-okay," stammered Cisco. "T-Take a deep breath."

Following his instruction, Cara's chest puffed out. Her round, sizable breasts like balloons inflating beneath her black t-shirt.

Cisco had the stethoscope hovering over them, his arm frozen in position for a seemingly substantial amount of time. His eyes locked with the cleavage from the very blonde whose heartbeat he thought he was prepared to give a listen to.

Cara started to become dizzy, holding her breath for more than a few seconds.

A short distance nearby was Caitlin Raymond, rolling her eyes in disgust. "Oh, give it to me," she moaned, walking across the lab to snatch away the stethoscope. "You can really be too much at times, Cisco."

He babbled a response that Caitlin was unable to discern.

But the weirdest part was this whole task was _his_ idea.

After discovering Cara's peculiar capsule, which she manifested there within S.T.A.R. Labs, and its equally abnormal inconsistency between the dimensions of its exterior and interior, Cisco just had to be certain if it was the fabled time machine from one of his favorite television programs.

His only confirmation was in the nature of Cara's heartbeat, which Caitlin found to be quite irregular, listening through the stethoscope.

"She's got _two_ heartbeats," she verified.

Cisco victoriously clapped his hands and yelled, "Boom! Knew it! She's a Time Lady! I've gotta call Felicity and Ray! We got a real-life Time Lady _and_ her very own T.A.R.D.I.S. _in_ our lab!"

"You'll have to just settle with Felicity on that, Cisco," said Barry Allen, entering unmasked in his Flash suit. "Ray's living on his own time-space adventure, according to Oliver."

Metal clanging resounded from inside Cara's opened T.A.R.D.I.S.

"Hey," she called to the individuals inside it. "You boys be careful in there!"

The heads of Darwin and Gumball poked through the doors of the Gallifreyan spaceship. "It's difficult to find your 'Shredder-Tearer' thing when you've got all this junk lying around," griped the former.

"Seriously, our bedroom looks clean compared to this!" Gumball added.

"First of all, it's called a Ripper Collar, nowhere close to whatever that was _you_ called it," Cara addressed. "And second, don't be dissing my living space. You boys are _guests_."

Gumball groaned. "Fine. Just tell us what it looks like again."

"You'll know when you see it," Cara said. "Looks like a giant, metal doughnut."

The boys retreated back inside to continue in their search.

Meanwhile, Barry somewhat warily approached Cara and asked, "Have you ever been to a place we call 'Earth-Two'? It looks like _this_ Earth, only it's a lot—"

"Dapper," Cisco completed.

Cara shrugged. "I've been to _infinite_ Earths. I can never really determine which is which by numbers. For example, your Earth could easily be 'Earth-One-Million' to me."

"That would make valid sense," said a voice from the shadows that revealed itself subsequently. "What we call 'Earth-Two' is only one parallel Earth we've uncovered. Several others can possibly exist."

Cara frowned at the bleakly -dressed, fortysomething fellow.

"I hate to break it to ya, Mister…?"

"Wells. Harrison Wells…of Earth-Two."

"There's no 'possibly' about it. They exist."

Wells deliberately nodded. "And you're living proof of it – an alien with two hearts and companions in a blue cat, a fish with legs, and some type of genetically spliced rat-monkey."

The man's blunt, inconsiderate tone rubbed Cara the wrong way.

She was right on the verge of biting back until Barry stepped in.

"Hey, Harry? Mind if you, me, Caitlin, and Cisco talked for a sec?"

Wells followed the three out of the lab and into the adjoining hallway, but not without exchanging icy gazes with Cara.

She felt alleviated as soon as they all were out of the lab.

Prodding questions, cold stethoscopes, and now one moron insulting her intelligence and companions? She was thankful no one asked to take her temperature, which would have been the last straw.

The sooner she got out of this dimension, the better.

"Have you two found that flippin' Ripper Collar or not?!" She barked to Gumball and Darwin.

"Nope," Gumball answered from inside the T.A.R.D.I.S. "But we did find this."

The boys once again emerged, with Gumball holding a large, dusty brown book.

Darwin cleared the dust with one strong blow…right into Gumball's face.

"Dude! C'mon!" Gumball hacked and coughed.

His reddened eyes looked on the embroidered cover and its title: "The NeverEnding Story."

"What's this book about?" Darwin queried to Cara.

"Well, guessing by the name, a story that has no ending?" Gumball determined.

"But it's so thick," Darwin indicated. "It would _have_ to end."

Gumball put on a skeptical frown. "Maybe it comes in volumes."

Hearing their deliberation, Cara set her sights back on the two little troublemakers. Once she saw the book they debated on about, her crystal blue eyes widened with reflection.

"Haven't you boys ever heard the saying 'Never judge a book by its cover'?" She posed. "Well, don't judge _this_ one." She took it out of their hands and gazed over the cover, smiling. "It was in my previous life when I discovered _The NeverEnding Story_ …"

 **Many Years Earlier…**

Chaos erupted left and right from the Type-Z's control room.

Sparks flew out of the console and flames consumed eighty percent of the area.

One inert young Portuguese woman – dressed in a purple galaxy combat top and leggings with black combat boots – laid unconscious amidst it all. Right beside her stood a tiny Mogwai, chirping in concern for his cataleptic friend.

And then, in the heartbeat of a second, she snapped awake, exhaling a faint stream of golden mist.

" _Perigo!_ "

She sat up, taking in the anarchy exploding around her.

" _Como aconteceu isto?_ "

Her right hand slapped over her mouth, surprised and baffled by the non-English vernacular spewing out.

" _Por que eu estou falando desse jeito?_ "

Gizmo was as puzzled as she was, garbling curiously.

Opting not to say another word in this new language she inherited from her newest regeneration, Neas shuffled to her feet and went to work regaining control back to the Type-Z. She considered herself blessed to still know how to operate it, effectively taking the ship out of the corridor and executing an emergency landing in a random dimension.

The fire engulfed throughout extinguished as soon as she switched on the deprivation tanks hidden beneath the roundels, releasing ammonium polyphosphate onto the inferno.

Gizmo let out a congratulatory squeak, but Neas was in no condition to celebrate.

After the control room pandemonium stopped, she stumbled her way off the platform and out of the T.A.R.D.I.S. altogether, collapsing just a few feet out onto a street alley. Her vision hazy, she could scarcely make out the lone shape of a boy fast-approaching her before drifting back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Some moments passed until she once again recuperated, finding herself seated back in the console room. Other than a throbbing head, she felt as if her health had reverted to normal.

There was only one way to be so sure.

" _Meu nome é Neas._ "

Nope. She still retained that Portuguese tongue.

At this juncture, she wondered if it was permanent with the regeneration – the very thought terrifying her to the core. How could she ever travel anyplace, speaking in a language not even her own T.A.R.D.I.S. could bother to translate?

In her woeful state of mind, she spotted a young boy with brown moppy hair standing near her on the console platform, having fun with Gizmo. She figured him to be the one that helped her back into the T.A.R.D.I.S.

" _Obrigado_ ," she expressed her gratitude to the child's deed.

Noticing her awake, the boy responded, "Sorry. I can't understand you."

Neas sighed, hoping for a second he could.

"My name's Bastian," he introduced himself. "Your pet's really cute." He gestured to the Mogwai sitting and smiling on the control console. "Are you both aliens from outer space? Your spaceship is bigger on the inside."

" _Sim, nós viajamos muito longe._ "

Bastian frowned. He just could not grasp a word she said.

Then an idea struck in Neas that got her up from her seat, rushing to the control console and opening a secret compartment from where she claimed a notepad and pen. She used the items to compose a message for Bastian to read in his native tongue.

Unfortunately, as Bastian discovered afterward, the message was written in the same language Neas was trapped speaking in.

It befuddled the boy, who was logical enough to discern a conundrum to the woman's dilemma: "You can understand English, because _I'm_ speaking English, but you can't write _or_ speak it."

Neas nodded, verifying Bastian's intuition.

"Then you just need to be reminded of it." This suggestion gave him an idea. Taking off his backpack and reaching in, he pulled out a copy of _Lord of the Rings_ – one of his favorite books. "Here, we'll read this together."

Sitting down with her, he opened to the first chapter and read aloud.

Gizmo watched on, his large ears listening fixedly to Bastian as he assisted his new friend.

* * *

Over the course of a few months, Bastian daily visited Neas's T.A.R.D.I.S.

It was always there in that one spot in the alley where he came to find it, each day after school.

He never did learn of her true Gallifreyan name, instead selecting one for himself to remember. As such, he dubbed her "Isabel," a name inspired by his late mother, Isabelle Bux.

Along with the new name, Isabel swapped the clothes of her preceding regeneration for some more suitable to her current one. Rummaging through her massive selection of outfits from the equally colossal wardrobe in her T.A.R.D.I.S., she settled on a unique style with a long-sleeved, cut-out, V-necked crop top bearing an oceanic design, in addition to a matching miniskirt and black leggings. She decided against footwear, finding greater comfort in being barefoot.

"What do you think, Gizmo?" She modeled for her longtime Mogwai companion.

Her fluency with English wholly returned just after a month in her sessions with Bastian, though she still carried a Portuguese accent. Despite so, she greatly enjoyed them, yearning to listen to the boy read chapters from his preferred authors – some Isabel herself had the pleasure in meeting.

She could not wait to show off her new threads to him that day of his visit.

However, she found herself waiting for him longer than the usual hour of their day-to-day sessions.

"He could not have forgotten, could he?" She counseled with Gizmo, who was himself lost on Bastian's whereabouts.

Becoming more and more concerned by the minute, she departed from the T.A.R.D.I.S. and wandered out into the alley.

She was not too far out before she heard the shifting of glass bottles and cardboard boxes within a nearby dumpster. Its heavy lid lifted by the mild strength of the boy inside, his body littered with garbage.

"Bastian!" Isabel cried. "What are you doing hiding in there?"

"I'm _not_ hiding. These bullies from school threw me in here."

Isabel aided him out of the dumpster, cleaning the trash off him.

" _Pobre coisa_ ," she uttered. "Who would want to bully a wonderful boy like you?"

" _We_ would!"

Their eyes were directed to the end of the alley, seeing three boys – two dirty blondes and one wearing a red cap – standing side-to-side and leering directly on Isabel and Bastian.

"Who said you could get out the garbage?" The red-capped boy said.

"Get back in there!" One of the dirty blondes growled.

Bastian quivered. "Oh, no! Not again!"

Isabel protectively stood in front of him, politely addressing the three bullies, "Boys, just go. This has gone on far enough, don't you think?"

"Keep out of this lady!" Red cap belligerently demanded.

"Yeah, or we'll throw your gigantic butt in the dumpster, too," one of his two cohorts threatened.

Isabel's brow wrinkled in offense. Her focus briefly went to her backside, which she had not much deliberated, even while admiring her new body earlier in the T.A.R.D.I.S. wardrobe. But, sure enough, her buttocks _did_ noticeably protrude through her skirt and leggings.

"Oh, come now, boys," she griped. "No need to be rude – it's not _that_ big."

Having none of her levity, the bullies gave chase.

Isabel and Bastian ran out of the alley and down the sidewalk, weaving around several bystanders to reach whatever point they lost their three adolescent adversaries in. Thankfully, Isabel discerned one place in their path to hide: a bookstore.

"This way," she told Bastian, leading him through the door and shutting it once they were safe inside.

They ducked down low beneath the window door, staying out of sight while the bullies passed by. Isabel peered through the window, seeing if the coast was clear. She exhaled with relief when she got her approval.

"Those little _monstros_ are worse than Sontarans!" Isabel reflected.

"Get outta here!" A grumpy voice snarled within the store. "We don't like kids!"

Isabel and Bastian strolled further in, regardless of the disgruntled man's warnings. Past row-upon-row of towering stacks of books, they discovered an elderly, salt-and-peppered gentleman sitting in an antique wing chair with one large brown book in one hand and a smoking pipe in the other.

He turned to see Isabel and Bastian looking on him.

"You two still here?" He grumbled. "Didn't you hear what I said?"

"We're j-just…" Bastian stammered.

"You're hiding," the man gathered.

Bastian again stammered to explain himself and Isabel, but the latter chose to be cordially honest with the elder.

"Yes, we were," she admitted.

"Well, you kids are hiding in the wrong place," said the man, who flattered Isabel with his addressing her as a youngster, being as old as she was in Gallifreyan years. "Here, we just sell small rectangular objects that're called 'books.'"

"We _know_ books," Bastian argued. "We've read a hundred and eighty-six of them in the last few months."

"Bah! Comic books!" The old man belittled.

"No, we've read _Treasure Island_ , _The Last of the Mohicans_ , _The Wizard of Oz_ , _The Lord of the Rings_ , _Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_ , _Tarzan_ …"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," the man said, seeming to gain interest – and even some respect – for Bastian.

Isabel smiled, detecting that impression.

"Who're you running away from?" He asked them.

Bastian was too ashamed to answer, leaving Isabel to shield his pride and do so on his behalf: "Just some boys being boys."

The bookseller nodded in comprehension.

"Ah. Are you his sister?"

Isabel blushed; this gentleman was such a flatterer.

"No, sir," she chuckled. "I'm just a good friend."

"A hard commodity in these times," the bookseller perceived.

Bastian's attention fell on the large book that the old man held in front of him.

"What's _that_ one about?"

The old seller beamed at his interest. "Oh, this is something _special_. Your books are safe. By reading them, you get to _become_ Tarzan or Robinson Crusoe. But, afterwards, you get to be a little boy again. Have you ever been Captain Nemo, trapped inside your submarine while the giant squid is attacking you?"

Isabel sniggered.

The elderly bookseller caught onto her amusement. "Have _you_?"

"In a way, yes, I have," Isabel remarked. "But not from reading the book."

"Then you know what I'm talking about," the seller established.

"I don't," said a mystified Bastian. "They're only stories."

"Only the ones _you_ read, boy," the seller disputed. "This one here is…"

Before he could continue, the ringing of a telephone brought the discussion to an abrupt close. He closed the large brown book, hiding it beneath a pile of newspapers to draw attention away from it.

"Forget about it," he recommended. "This book is _not_ for you."

It almost sounded like a challenge to Bastian.

The old seller retreated to the back, answering his call.

Meanwhile, Bastian – careful not to let himself be seen by the bookseller – pryingly moved aside the newspapers to give him and Isabel a good look at the dubious hardcover.

It was embroidered with a strange icon above the title, "The NeverEnding Story."

From this long glance they got of it, Isabel's fascination outweighed Bastian's.

"Let's take it with us," she encouraged.

"Isn't that stealing?" Bastian fretted.

Isabel scoffed. "Is this not a library, Bastian?"

"No, it's a bookstore," he corrected. "Big difference."

Isabel rolled her chocolate brown eyes. "Fine. We'll leave a note promising to return it."

And that was precisely what was done, shortly before their hasty exit…

…which was unexpectedly blocked by a nosy little blue cat.

"You _stole_ a book off a helpless old man?!"

 **Present Time**

"Alright, first off, the old man was _not_ 'helpless' nor did we attack him in any way," Cara elucidated. "And, secondly, we _borrowed_ the book, leaving a note behind for him to see."

"Good call on the note," Darwin approved, "but stealing is _still_ stealing."

Cara grunted. "Do you two want to hear the rest of the story or not?"

The assortment of forthcoming footsteps alerted them to the return of Barry, Cisco, Caitlin, and Wells to the lab, interrupting their story time.

"Hey, Cara," said an apprehensive Barry. "We could really use your help for a complicated task."

She raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "How complicated are we talking?"

"Traveling-into-another-Earth complicated."


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight: Roots**

 **Atlanta, Georgia**

Kristin had no other choice.

Steven's doctor had to be reached the second he took the fall from their backyard peach tree.

He loved plucking the peaches on whatever sunny afternoon he could bring himself out in, but she hated to see him climb up twenty feet by ladder to do it.

And the day she feared came.

The fall that her husband took was devastating, rupturing his ancient spine in five places. It took much effort on her part to bring him back into the farmhouse.

Dr. Westen, his personal doctor, was contacted to make a house call – although Kristin might as well have called for him to say goodbye more less attempt to save Steven's life.

Truthfully, there was only one "doctor" for this job: the one that their daughter Candace went back to Gallifrey with.

Heaven only knew where _he_ was that moment.

She waited in the den adjacent to their bedroom while Westen conducted his examination on Steven. It was nearly an hour before he showed near her with a perplexed register.

"I've been treating that man for fifty years," he said, dabbing his pale, balding head with a white handkerchief, "but how on earth could I not have noticed the irregularity in his heartbeat?"

Kristin tried not to smirk. "What irregularity did you notice?"

Westen shrugged. "Well, for starters, he has _two_ of them."

She wanted to laugh right in front of him but also did not want to confuse the old doctor any further, especially not with the sight of Steven lying on his deathbed.

"Whatever it is that's going on inside him, it's only moments now before he departs," said Westen, realizing afterward how unfazed she was from the news. "Your husband is going to die, Kristin – presumably any second now."

Kristin nodded, expressionless. "I understand, Doc. Thank you for coming."

Westen followed his cue, but not without firing a few baffled gazes in Kristen's general direction. The black-and-white-suited doctor departed, leaving Kristen to join her husband at his bedside.

"I think I scared the crap out of him," Steven joked, albeit weakly.

Kristin grimaced. "Out of _him_?! Seeing you fall from that dang peach tree back there scared _me_ , Steven! You're an old fool, you know that?"

"The peaches were ripe for the season. I couldn't let them just sit up in that tree."

His joking did nothing to ease her concerns for him and the circumstance she knew to come soon from a being like him.

"Will it hurt?" She questioned with a heavy sigh.

"Only for the quick few seconds that it happens," he assured. "After then, I'll just be thankful if I still have an Adam's apple."

She would rather not think of _that_ possibility.

"I don't want you to change, Steven," she tearfully implored.

Steven smiled, taking his wife's hand. "I knew this moment to be inevitable, honey. I…"

Suddenly, his body turned rigid.

Kristin felt his grip on her hand tighten.

"What's wrong?! Is this it?!"

Steven nodded, his face scrunched by agony. "Step back!"

She did as instructed and, not too soon after, a golden mist of energy erupted from her husband's body, engulfing his head and hands – the only two parts exposed from the blue, pinstriped pajamas he wore.

During this process of regeneration, Kristin could only make out faint details of his familiar features; however, they soon gave way to something more diverse. Gone were his long silvery hair and pale, wrinkled skin, quickly replaced by a clean-shaven scalp and a darker complexion. Within seconds, Steven transformed from an elderly white male to a middle-aged black one.

 **Astoria, Oregon – Several Years and Dimensions Later**

Skeeta only took the photograph out at times when he needed to remember.

His previous life, captured in a withered polaroid from 1974 featuring Steven, his wife Kristin, and their teenage daughter Candace, all sitting upon the front porch of their Georgia farmhouse.

One happy, loving family now torn apart from secrets and guilt.

Skeeta's concentration settled on it the entire time he sat on the cellar floor, his back rested against the wall. Sanders's Type-Z T.A.R.D.I.S. situated beside the shackled Lotney "Sloth" Fratelli, a heavily deformed man with minimal intelligence but substantial strength. He and Gen, who both seemed to get along instantly, were attentive to the television set, laughing at nearly everything.

Their entertainment was soon disrupted by the deep clanging of the cellar door as it unexpectedly opened. This prompted Skeeta to pocket his treasured photograph into his jacket while two new occupants for the cellar were forcibly entered. He was amazed to see one of them was in fact Neas, an old comrade of World War II. Their eyes met briefly on his way in, both astonished of the other's presence out of time.

The Fratelli brothers walked in after Neas and the young boy accompanying him, their handguns trained on the two.

"Sanders!" Jake called towards the T.A.R.D.I.S.

Heeding the call, Sanders moved out of her T.A.R.D.I.S. with her stilettos clicking in her wake. "What is it now with you tw—" She stopped as soon as she caught sight of the two new guests. "Oh. Well, isn't _this_ a surprise?"

"I'm thinkin' on wastin' the big one," Jake threateningly insisted, pressing the barrel of his gun against Neas's forehead. "Yeah, one right through the skull should do nicely."

"NO!" Sanders urgently commanded. "Jake and Francis, you boys go back upstairs, get your mother, and round up the friends of these two snoopers. We've got some perpetrators in our midst, and I intend to deal with a couple of them personally."

Jake paused and considered these new orders from the sexually alluring woman. After some time, he moved his gun from Neas's forehead, holstering it. "Anything for you, doll," he acknowledged with a wink before leaving the cellar with Francis.

Sanders gagged. "I can't stand that idiot," she muttered.

"Who are you?" Neas asked the woman.

She glimpsed back and forth between him and Skeeta.

"Aren't you guys sick of wearing those outdated airman clothes? Seriously, you guys could do with a makeover. Come on in the T.A.R.D.I.S., and we'll…"

"Let's worry about that later," Neas impatiently snapped. "Again, _who_ are you?"

Sanders strode up to him, lovingly placing a hand on his broad chest.

"Oh, sweetheart, wasn't it obvious from the tall slab of solid behind me? I'm _you_."

Neas scoffed and grinned, gestures that caught Sanders off guard.

"You're…not surprised?" She speculated.

"My whole day's spent running into my past and future selves, so you're not much different." His eyes scaled up and down at her revealing apparel. "Though I _am_ surprised by the choice of clothing, or lack thereof. I must suffer one _serious_ mid-life crisis at this age."

Sanders chuckled. "That clever wit – my favorite part of your regeneration. I know Mandy and Shel came here with you, and I'm glad of it. It falls right into my plan."

"And what plan is that?" Neas queried.

"Oh, baby, you'll see soon. It's all in good time. But, in the meantime, you and your little friend, who I think just peed himself, relax and watch a little television with Sloth, Gen, and Skeeta – I believe you know those last two _very_ well."

She retreated into her T.A.R.D.I.S.

The defeated and disgruntled Neas looked to Mikey, who cowered to one corner of the room. Figuring it would be awhile before Sanders set her plan in motion, he took a seat on the floor, right next to Skeeta.

"How did she rope _you_ into this insanity?" He asked his old war buddy. "I mean, no offense, but you're only a commanding officer from World War II – your importance serves to a conflict historical to Earth and no place else in the universe. What makes you so important?"

Skeeta huffed. "She discovered what I _really_ am: a Time Lord."

Shocked from this, Neas's focus on his old friend shifted to frustration.

"I've known you all the years we've fought in WWII! You've mentioned you have a family and job back home!"

"And I do."

"Yeah, but on Gallifrey?! Did you ever fight alongside a tall, muscled blonde back in the Time War?" Skeeta nodded in reply. "And did you know you were fighting alongside a regeneration of that _same_ blonde in World War II?"

"Yes," Skeeta regrettably confirmed.

Neas's frustration and anger rose. "So you've known the truth about me this entire time and never said a word?!"

"Of course I knew. I was dedicated to protecting the fabled Gladiator of Gallifrey, knowing she would one day return home."

"Gallifrey was _never_ my home, Skeeta!" Neas boomed.

"And I agree. Gallifrey isn't the home I meant."

Skeeta began reaching into his jacket, his fingers gripping the old photograph pocketed there.

And then the cellar door clanged open again.

The Fratelli brothers returned, along with their mother.

Each of their guns were aimed on Neas, Skeeta, Mikey, and Gen.

"You four haul your butts upstairs _now_!" Agatha fiercely ordered.

Distinguishing the old woman's loud, raspy voice from inside her T.A.R.D.I.S., Sanders rushed out to witness the unexpected turn of events. "Agatha," she yelled. "Have you forgotten who's in charge here?!"

"No, I haven't," Agatha retorted. "Because _I_ am!" She turned her gun on Sanders, who was impelled to raise her hands. "I'm not gonna listen anymore to some two-bit hussy who can't decide between a skirt or a pair of pants!"

* * *

"Something's _definitely_ wrong, guys. It's been over an hour, and they haven't returned yet. What're they doing in there?"

With one grip on a pair of binoculars he used to scope the old restaurant and the other on the swaddled Gizmo, Benson kept himself standing along the ridge and maintaining observation. Unbeknownst to him, Mordecai, Rigby, Muscle Man, and H.F.G. had been lounging the entire time on colored lawn chairs, wearing sunglasses, and sipping bottled lemonade.

"Relax, Benson," said Mordecai. "They'll be back."

"Yeah, Benson," added Rigby. "I'm sure your girlfriend's fine with Neas and that other lady."

Benson fumed. "For the last time, Rigby, she's not my…!"

He turned to face them for the first time in minutes and finally noticed how they have spent their hour.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! IS THIS WHAT YOU GUYS HAVE BEEN DOING THIS WHOLE TIME?!"

"Hey, man, we're not at work," Rigby argued. "You can't yell at us for not doing any of it!"

"Where did you even find all this?" Benson asked.

"Inside the T.A.R.D.I.S.," Mordecai said. "Neas's got a whole bunch of cool stuff in there that goes back like ages ago."

Getting over the idiocy and laziness of the four slackers, Benson was welcomed with the sight of Skips exiting the T.A.R.D.I.S. The immortal yeti spent his time being productive and making repairs on the spaceship.

"Skips, please give us some good news." Benson pleaded.

"Lucky for you, I do," he said, wiping his hands with a grease rag. "She got pretty banged up from that gremlin attack, but she should be able to take off again, as soon as we're done here."

Benson sighed, looking towards the old restaurant and becoming increasingly agitated. "We should go and help them. I have a real bad feeling they're in trouble."

"Do we have to?" Rigby whined. "I just got _real_ comfortable."

"GET OFF YOUR BUTTS AND COME WITH US, OR YOU'RE FIRED!"

* * *

The crew arrived at the old restaurant just as another individual – a big kid dressed in 80's style sweats – did on what looked like a small pink tricycle. Benson knew he and his employees should have stopped right there and then to turn back, avoiding unwanted attention. Unfortunately, the big kid already spotted them.

"Nice costumes," he jeered. "Halloween was last month, fellas."

"We're on our way to a…costume party," a story Mordecai managed to fabricate on the spot. "We took a detour and our friends went inside this deserted restaurant to use the bathroom."

"They probably ran into my idiot brother and his knuckle-headed friends," the big kid inferred. "I followed them here when they talked about going after some buried treasure that doesn't even exist."

"Yeah, well," Benson uttered, "don't let us keep you—"

"BOO!"

They all screamed with terror, thanks to the playful jittering of two teenage girls, a beautiful redhead in a letterman jacket and a bespectacled blonde who looked to be following the latest in 80s fashion.

"What the heck, bros?!" Muscle Man bellowed.

"Yeah, you nearly gave us heart attacks!" Rigby complained.

"Lame costume, Chunk," the blonde told Muscle Man. "What're you prankin' people to think it's Halloween again for candy?"

Muscle Man cringed. "Who's Chunk?"

"Alright, there's no more time for fun and games!" Benson shouted. "We need to get in this place before—"

 _POW!_

A single gunshot rang from inside the old restaurant.

Everyone froze.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine: The Superior Race**

Past the typical scent of puberty, the boys' dormitory of Gryffindor was quite the serene spot to Rhyanna. It had all the necessities: a centrally-located stove, four poster beds for each resident Gryffindor student, windows and space for storing personal belongings, and a water jug on the windowsill.

While situated in her lotus position to one corner, she waited patiently for Hermione and Maureen to treat Gizmo's broken arm with a healing potion they concocted together. Harry, Ron, Bugs, and Daffy stood and watched around the bed that the two girls handled their treatment on.

The Mogwai gave a satisfied chirp in response to the tender care.

Maureen giggled. "He's thanking you, Hermione."

"Well, you're most welcome," she sweetly told Gizmo. "He's the most precious creature I've ever laid eyes on."

"Yeah, but where did he come from?" Ron queried. "He's not in any of the books we've studied, not even Scamander."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe he's something that hasn't been discovered yet. Hagrid can probably—"

"Hey, I've got an idea," Daffy interjected. "How 'bout we spend less time worryin' over the little fuzz-ball and more time helpin' _me_ find the treasure!"

"What treasure are you talking about, mate?" A stumped Ron questioned.

"Oh, c'mon," Daffy smugly said, believing as if Ron was playing coy. "There's gotta be some around in a huge ol' castle like this."

Annoyed over the duck's insistent prying, Maureen removed herself from the bed and approached Daffy. "None of you will be staying long enough to go any further than here. Once Gizmo's completely healed, you lot are out."

"So you're who I'll one day be," Rhyanna addressed her. "You're one of my future regenerations."

"Just gettin' 'round to figurin' it out, are ya?" Maureen mocked.

"And a _snippy_ one, too." Rhyanna examined. "Probably being Northern and all."

"Oh, sod off, you!" Maureen angrily snapped. "You'd be crossed, if _you_ were in your _final_ regeneration!"

Rhyanna was struck cold. "You're our last one? That'd mean you're the twelfth. We're only allowed twelve regenerations."

"Quite the detective, you are," Maureen jeered.

"Sorry," Harry stepped in. "I hate to interrupt this interesting exchange, but…what do you both mean by 'regeneration'?"

His curiosity only frustrated Maureen more. "I've drawn too much attention to myself. I can't stay here anymore." After a brief, despondent sigh, she came clean to the boy she grew to call a friend: "I'm not a witch, Harry."

"You're a muggle?!" Hermione presumed.

"Not even close," Maureen snickered. "I'm an alien from a planet called Gallifrey. We refer to ourselves as 'Time Lords,' or 'Time Ladies,' if you're a girl." She gestured to Rhyanna. "The Aussie with the big bum here is one of my past selves. When we're seriously hurt or on the edge of death, we regenerate…change our bodies entirely."

"And you're the twelfth and last one?" Harry reviewed.

Maureen somberly nodded. "Correct. Once after that, I die just like any other."

"That all sounds totally mental," the disbelieving Ron articulated.

"Is it any harder to believe than the existence of wizards and witches, Ron?"

He considered Maureen's logic, which was reasonable enough to convince him of the truth. "Solid point," he admitted.

"I'll have to be leavin' tonight," Maureen declared.

"You don't have to," Harry insisted. "We promise not to tell anyone else."

"That's kind of you, Harry. But I cannot risk puttin' you three or anyone else in danger." Maureen looked to Rhyanna and snidely muttered, "Guess I'll have _you_ to thank for this."

Rhyanna sulked. "I'm sorry."

"You can show how sorry you are by making yourself scarce." She then hurriedly added, "But not before taking a bloody shower first. _Someone_ has to tell ya."

* * *

Rhyanna did not believe she carried any odor to drive those around her as crazy as it did with Maureen. She suspected her grouchy future incarnation only to be speaking in spite of the sweat-glistened young Australian.

Still, a cool, refreshing shower sounded just what the doctor ordered.

Maureen directed her to the nearest available washroom.

Considering how late it was, Rhyanna was grateful to have it all to herself, though she would not have mind a little more luminescence. Only the moon, shining through a single window, provided seldom lighting.

She stripped off her clothing, stepping into one of the five stalls and switching on the water. Initially, it was cold as ice, prompting her to temporarily jump back out. Once it warmed, she submitted herself to the running liquid, permitting its course down her bare body and through every crevice.

Ten minutes of blissful showering, and she was done.

"SURRENDER!"

She jerked her soaking body around to face the familiar black-and-gold Dalek that found its way into the washroom.

"Do I have any other choice in this way?" Rhyanna remarked.

In the most uncomfortable way imaginable, Vec's eyestalk moved up and down in a slow, steady motion, seemingly analyzing Rhyanna's naked, dripping frame.

"YOU ARE A TIME LORD!"

"Time Lady, if you please."

"YOU POSSESS THE ABILITY TO REGENERATE INTO ANY FORM UPON REGENERATION, AND YOU CHOOSE THAT OF A HUMAN – AN INFERIOR RACE!"

"And yours always deem to be the superior race."

"THAT IS CORRECT!"

Rhyanna smirked. "Let me enlighten you on the science of regeneration, mate. I don't 'choose' the body – it never works that way. Sometimes, regeneration has a mind of its own. But some subconscious part of me _does_ decide on a body to remind me of what I used to be: a gladiator."

The eyestalk shifted up and down again. "THIS IS A GLADIATOR FORM?"

She stared down at herself, smiling.

"I'd like to believe that it is. I would rather it be used for peace than war."

"THERE IS NO PEACE! THERE IS ONLY WAR!"

"Is peace merely the absence of war, or is it tranquility despite the conflict? Is happiness the absence of suffering, or is it contentment despite the imperfections? I believe we can be happy in a world that is already broken and have inner peace in the midst of chaos. We can be in a frustrating situation but choose not to get frustrated, and we can also find bliss in less-than-ideal situations. Happiness is a choice. When the mind's delight in being stimulated is exhausted, serenity sets in…a deep calm with a half-smile of appreciation and acceptance of whatever arises, without judgment or aversion. It's a sense of relief beyond peacefulness; it is divine tranquility."

Vec froze.

Rhyanna believed she had reached the impossible: talking sense into a Dalek.

Her hope of this diminished the second she witnessed Vec take aim at her.

"EXTERMINATE!"

The signature Dalek battle cry was abruptly followed by a ghostly wail and the emergence of a phantom girl in Hogwarts robes.

"What an ugly creature you are!" She said of the Dalek.

She unintentionally made herself a target of Vec's death ray.

However, already being dead, the ray merely phased through her translucent body. Nonetheless, she wailed in fright, flying throughout the washroom area while Dalek Vec continued firing.

This was just the distraction necessary for Rhyanna to make her escape.

Gathering her clothes and putting them on along the way, she rushed out of the washroom and back to the dormitory.

"All washed up, eh?" Maureen wittingly greeted. "That wasn't all so bad now, was—"

"Vec's here!" Rhyanna exclaimed.

Daffy's eyes bulged in panic. "That tin-canned maniac's come back for us!"

"Who's Vec?" Harry asked, frowning behind his round-rimmed glasses.

Screams resonated outside the dormitory, accompanied by laser fire and explosions.

"Bloody hell!" Ron cried in horror. "What's happening out there?!"

Maureen did not have the time to give him the play-by-play – not that it would have eased his nerves any less.

Instead, she focused her attention on Rhyanna.

"Your T.A.R.D.I.S. is our only way out."

Rhyanna agreed with a nod. "Harry, Ron, and Hermione have to come with us, for their own safety."

"Where are we going?" Hermione inquired.

"What about everyone else?" Harry asked. "Hagrid, Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore…"

"I'm sorry, Harry," Maureen lamented. "There's no time to save them all – not from Dalek Vec."

Harry refused to believe in such reasoning.

He wanted to take his wand, go out of his dorm, and defeat whatever new menace had come to Hogwarts.

Just as it was his ignorance to desire such a brash action, it was his ignorance that kept him from it. No telling how powerful or immune to magic this "Dalek Vec" was, he could not gamble his life or others around him.

Placing his trust and faith in Maureen, he joined her and the others in leaving the dormitory and moving through the halls of the castle.

The chaos that swelled in the Vector Dalek's wake was greater than they feared.

Littered around were the dead bodies of students.

Not just Gryffindor but Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw as well.

"What savage monster are we dealing with?!" Ron whimpered.

Just as they were completely over the litter of bodies, the welcoming sight of Rhyanna's T.A.R.D.I.S. waited for them at the end of the corridor.

They were on the preface of entering the capsule until…

"Potter!"

Draco Malfoy.

The student of House Slytherin, and a known rival of Harry's, stormed his way towards the group. His robe – usually in pristine condition – was as scorched as his light skin and white blond hair were.

"I may not be able to prove it, but I know it was you that unleashed whatever monstrosity that is on us all," Malfoy roared.

"Are you mental?!" Ron barked. "We've got nothing to do with this!"

"Oh, I'm sure, Weasley. Trouble _always_ follows you three, and the rest of us have to pay for it!"

"EXTERMINATE!"

The wall nearest them shattered.

It was a miscalculation on Vec's part, but the next attempt would not be so.

Hermione knew something had to be done about the Dalek, before it killed them all.

She pulled out her wand and carefully aimed.

"Stupefy!"

A glow emitted from the tip, shooting across the space between her and Vec.

Struck by the casted spell, the Dalek was sent toppling back.

"Ooh!" An impressed Bugs cheered. "Where can I get one of those?"

With Vec subdued, thanks to Hermione's magic, the group – including Malfoy – retreated into Rhyanna's T.A.R.D.I.S.

Almost immediately, the construct dematerialized from the dimension.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten: Changes**

Pale white smoke seeped from the gun barrel.

If Neas had only a second to react, he would have stopped what happened.

He was Jake's initial target, until the thug changed his mind at the last second and switched over to Skeeta.

Hysteria set fast over the area.

Mikey and his friends wailed in frenzy.

Clarence clung to Mandy, burying his face into the cloth of her coat.

Shel wept over Skeeta, whose body sprawled on the floor, the gunshot wound to his abdomen bleeding out.

Neas did his best to treat it, but his rage towards Jake distracted him.

"You had no reason to shoot him!" He growled.

Jake complacently chortled, taking sinister satisfaction in his handiwork.

His moment of self-righteousness was short-lived, as soon as he felt the demeaning slap of his mother's hand across the back of his head.

"You numbskull!" She reprimanded. "What'd you do _that_ for?! It'll be just another body we've gotta dump!"

"We got to make an example, Ma," Jake said. "That we're not playin' games."

"Well, next time, let _me_ be the one to make it," Agatha grumbled.

She looked to Sanders, who was just as distraught about the bleeding man on the floor as Neas and Shel were.

"Now where were we?" She taunted. "Oh, that's right – the treasure you promised us in exchange for our services."

Neas glared back and forth between the Fratellis and Sanders. "What treasure?" He only then realized the truth in the matter for himself: "Don't tell me you promised One-Eyed Willy's treasure to _them_!"

Agatha greedily beamed. "That she did."

"NO!"

Bravely, Mikey parted himself from his friends, speaking in defiance.

"That treasure rightfully belongs to us _and_ Willy," he professed.

"My sons and I knew about it long before you rug rats did," Agatha debated.

Neas moved from the gravely wounded Skeeta, confronting Sanders. "What were you _thinking_ in telling them about that treasure?!"

"I was thinking how useful they'd be to my plan!" Sanders countered.

Neas groaned. "Again with this so-called 'plan'? What exactly _is_ this 'plan'?"

"SHUT UP!" Agatha snarled. "I don't have the time _or_ the patience for whatever personal problems you two got!" Her aim on Sanders grew firmer. "Take us to that treasure, or we'll pump lead into everybody here, startin' with _you_!"

"This is the police!"

The authoritative voice addressed the criminal family from outside, though it carried the distinct gruffness of an immortal yeti Neas and Shel recently encountered.

"We've got ya surrounded! Come on out with your hands up!"

"It's the cops!" Francis squealed.

"We can take 'em!" Jake asserted.

"What're you Butch and Sundance all of the sudden?!" Agatha ridiculed. "Why fight when we've got the _perfect_ getaway vehicle?" She then turned to Sanders and snidely added, "With the _perfect_ getaway driver."

Sanders softly moaned, detesting this shift of power. "As you wish."

She started to lead the Fratellis to the back.

Jake's gaze suddenly fixed on Shel, who continued to weep for Skeeta.

An idea struck his noggin.

He snatched her by the hair, causing her to scream in anguish and terror.

Alarmed from this rash act of villainy, Neas and Mandy advanced on Jake but were stopped cold when he trained his gun on them.

"Take another step…" He pressed it against Shel's left temple. "And this kid's brains get blown to bits!"

Whether or not they chose to accept it, Shel was just as much of an unwilling hostage in the Fratellis' escape as Sanders was an unwilling accomplice. Not even Agatha could dispute such a move, being the smartest one her son made in the last hour.

Neas, Mandy, and the children helplessly witnessed in the criminal family's getaway with their two Time Lady captives. Not long after they descended back downstairs, the sound of Sanders's T.A.R.D.I.S. dematerializing reverberated through the floorboards.

Shortly after the dimensional departure, the main entrance to the old restaurant busted open.

Mordecai, Brand, and Skips were the first to rush in before the other friendly faces of the bespectacled blonde Stephanie "Stef" Steinbrenner, the lovely redhead Andrea "Andy" Carmichael, and the rest of the Park crew.

"Brand!" Mikey joyfully cried, hugging his big brother.

"What's going on, Mikey?" Brand questioned. "What happened in here?"

"Yeah, we heard a gunshot," Mordecai said. "Anybody hurt?"

Skeeta let out a vicious groan, bringing all their attention on him.

Benson grimaced, looking on the bloodied stranger. "Who's this guy?"

"An old friend of mine," Neas said, kneeling beside Skeeta.

"Somebody that we'll meet one day, I take it," a curious Mandy reputed. "He's losing a lot of blood. Unless we get him medical attention, he's gonna—"

"That won't be necessary." Neas denied. "He'll be regenerating soon."

Mandy numbly blinked twice. "I'm sorry. Did you just say he'll be 'regenerating'? That would mean he's…"

"A Time Lord, yeah." Neas concluded.

Skeeta's hemorrhaging body jerked up long enough to clutch one bloodied hand onto Neas's shoulder, while reaching into his jacket with the other. It took him a great deal of strength to retrieve the old photograph from his pocket, handing it to Neas.

"Don't…let me…forget," he weakly huffed.

His grip on Neas's shoulder fell limp, along with the rest of his body, submitting to unconsciousness.

Cogitating over what might as well be a "dying" request, Neas glimpsed at the old photograph given to him.

"Oh, god," he gulped.

"What?" Mandy asked, noticing the unsettled tone in his voice. "What is that he gave you?"

He handed it over to her, without taking his eyes off the unconscious Skeeta.

Mandy gave it one look before she herself gasped.

In the old polaroid was a family she and Neas knew all too well sitting on the porch of a familiar Georgia farmhouse. The father's name was Steven, the gorgeous mother to his left was Kristin, and the fresh-faced teen daughter in front of them was Candace – the original.

"Why would he have this?" Mandy queried with heavy suspicion.

"Isn't it obvious?" Neas studied the dying man. "He's our father."

"But that's _impossible_!" Mandy negated. "In all the years we lived with them, neither of them said _anything_ about him being a flippin' Time Lord!"

Finally able to pry his eyes from Skeeta, he fixated a fiery gaze on Mandy. "They kept our Gallifreyan heritage a secret from us 'til the day we met the Doctor. Who can say they kept anything _else_ from us?"

Captivated by their exchange just as the others around them were, Rigby was promptly ensnared by a faint golden glow emitting from where Skeeta lied.

"Guys, look!"

Reverting attention back on Skeeta, they saw his body engulfed in the golden hue.

Neas and Mandy knew this extraordinary phenomenon as the process of regeneration, and their cohorts were witnessing it up close and personal for the first time in their lives.

Through the golden regenerative energy producing from him, they could detect certain features altering, such as his distinctive bald scalp. The dark complexion of it lightened and smoothened, making way for long, flowing blond hair. His husky physique changed beneath his blood-soaked Tuskegee uniform into a slimmer, smaller, and more feminine body type that could hardly fill in the clothes.

Neas even noted how the gunshot wound to the torso healed entirely, the bullet itself popping out during the process.

In seconds, the bald, middle-aged African American man had transformed into a young Caucasian woman. Her eyelids gradually lifted, baring the sparkling blue pair gifted from this new regeneration.

She sat up, examining her surroundings and then settling on the flabbergasted faces looking on her.

"Hello," she said in her timid, English-accented voice, which was a stark contrast to the vigorous baritone of her predecessor. She was especially taken aback from it, her fingers lightly touching her peach-blossomed lips. "Oh, dear. Is that what my voice sounds like now? It's so…delicate."

She spotted the old polaroid in Mandy's hand, instinctively snatching it from her.

"Happy to have kept it safe for ya," Mandy teased.

The young Englishwoman investigated the photograph, smiling as she mentally recalled her memory of it.

"I remember," she said.

"That's why you kept it," Neas deduced. "You needed it to remember who you once were."

The blonde acknowledged this with a nod upon gathering herself to her feet.

She wobbled on her new legs, urging Neas to be her crutch.

Her eyes met with his, sparking more memories.

"You're…my child," she whispered.

Neas nodded, smiling. "I am."

She looked past him, eyeing Mandy. "You're my child, too." Her head shook in confusion. "How does _that_ work? No, no. I remember. I remember. Regeneration…right? I've regener—"

Reflectively, she clutched her bosom, rendering herself speechless in her discovery of the noticeable shapely breasts she now possessed. This led to an emergency examination of two other body parts, grabbing her crotch with one hand and throat with the other – a gesture that drew odd glances from her audience.

Finding a nonexistence of male genitalia and an Adam's apple, she exclaimed in dread, "I've regenerated into a girl – a _British_ girl!"

Neas tried not to laugh. "You'll get used to it. Believe me. I'm living my first regeneration _as_ a man."

"Bro, this is so awkward." Muscle Man perceived.

"This is regeneration." Neas opposed. "It's random."

"So…this is what it was like between you and—"

In thinking of Shel, Benson was brusquely alerted to her absence.

"Where's Shel?!" He frantically questioned.

"She was taken by the Fratellis." Mandy informed.

Benson glowered. "Who?!"

"They're the bad guys, Mister Gumball Machine Man…Person." Clarence clarified. "One of them hurt that nice man who was Mandy's dad before he turned into a beautiful princess."

"Well, we've got to go rescue her from them!" Benson proposed.

"How?" Neas said. "We have no way of knowing where or when Sanders might've taken them to find Willy's treasure."

"I know of a way," proclaimed Skeeta's successor. "After all, I was the one who designed the Type-Z T.A.R.D.I.S. they're traveling in this moment."

Neas and Mandy shared a dissatisfied stare. Another "family secret" that had been kept from them.

"All I need is another version of it from another time to pinpoint the destination through the dimensional corridor."

Her idea sounded solid to Neas. "You can work with mine. It's just a few clicks from here, Ske—" He paused, realizing for the first time since welcoming in this new regeneration of his father that she did not have a proper name to it. "What do we call you now?"

The young English blonde thoroughly deliberated, smiling once she came to a satisfying selection.

"Lauren. Call me…Lauren Louise."


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven: Check-Out Time**

"You're tellin' me the same big black mook I almost shot back in the restaurant is this little girl right here?"

Jake Fratelli was the most abhorrent creature Shel had the misfortune of sharing breathing space with. His face hovering close to hers for study, as if she were some specimen under a microscope, she could smell whatever Italian dish he last ate in his hot, putrid breath.

Had his similarly infuriating mother not insisted on handcuffing her to the console platform railing, leaving her to sit on the floor with her arms suspended above her head, she would have slapped the taste right out of his disgusting mouth.

"They are one in the same," the annoyed Sanders verified for Jake's developing curiosity, operating at the T.A.R.D.I.S. controls while held at gunpoint by Francis. "Just as I am the same as them."

Jake snorted a chuckle. "I'll be damned. That'd explain why you kept me from shootin' that big sucker back at the restaurant – you were _literally_ savin' your own butt." She shot him a cold scowl that he was impervious to. "Gotta thank ya for that. Had I pulled the trigger, we wouldn't have continued our little 'business venture' here."

"Stop your flirtin' with this freak!" Agatha shouted, her craggy voice even more unbearable within the boundaries of the console room.

"You've always got to ruin my moment, don'tcha, Ma?" Jake griped.

"We're not usin' her for your sexual urges!" Agatha yelled, a retort that made Francis snicker. "She's only here to get us to that treasure. After that, we put a bullet right in that pretty forehead of hers."

Needless to say, Sanders was perturbed from this public declaration.

"How're we gettin' to that treasure?" Francis's inquiry went unanswered by Sanders, provoking him to firmly press his gun against the back of her skull. "That _wasn't_ a rhetorical question, sweetheart."

Sanders gave a discomforted sigh. "I'm taking us far into the past to steal it right under the nose of Willy himself."

Jake busted a gut. "You're kiddin' me! This domino spaceship's also a time machine?!"

"Impossible!" Agatha insulted.

"You just stepped inside of a ship that's bigger on its inside, and you find _that_ the 'impossible' part about it?" Sanders quipped.

"Why go back to the past?" Agatha asked. "Wouldn't the treasure be buried somewhere in the present?"

"Those kids we met in the restaurant know about the treasure just as we do and are probably gunning for it, as we speak." Sanders explained. "We're going to get a century start ahead of them."

This brilliant idea brought huge smiles to the Fratellis' faces.

"You're not such a bad alien after all, dearie." Agatha approved. "Maybe we _won't_ kill ya…as long as you agree to put on some pants." She then turned her attention to Francis and ordered, "Take your piece off her. She's clean." He hesitated on the command, infuriating her. "I SAID TAKE IT OFF HER!"

The forcefulness in her tone made Sanders quiver, yet it was effective enough for Francis to comply.

"Hey, Ma," Jake said, gesturing to Shel. "Whaddabout this one?"

"She's got no use anymore." Francis declared. "Let's off her right now."

"Oh, great thinkin', Einstein." Jake scorned. "Did ya forget what we assessed earlier? That offin' her would just kill _her_ , too?" He pointed to Sanders, emphasizing his point. "And then we'd be without our treasure _or_ a pilot."

Sanders glimpsed at the handcuffed Shel.

She was scared and furious, the latter clearly directed at her for assisting the Fratellis in their hunt.

There was only one thing to do.

"Francis is right," she said. "That one's no use to us anymore, and we can't risk her ruining our plans, now that she's heard every bit of it."

"So what do you propose we do about her?" Agatha probed.

Sanders reconfigured the controls, resetting their course.

"We'll leave her in another dimension," she recommended to the Fratellis. "Someplace where she won't be bothersome to us. Somewhere she'll be alone, without anyone to help her."

"Sounds good to me." Agatha concurred, as did her two boys.

A brokenhearted tear slowly streamed from Shel's left eye.

* * *

They arrived a moment later to a world ravaged by desolation.

Nothing more than a wasteland of intense heat and dryness.

Although Shel was removed from her uncomfortable position at the railing, she remained detained while Sanders carried out the deed of escorting her miles out across the wasteland.

"Stop here," she instructed, amidst the highest dune. "Now turn and face me."

Shel did as she was commanded but not without a display of defiance, shown by spitting right into the face of Sanders.

"Traitor!" The girl branded of her. "You've betrayed all that your past lives stood for, helping those thugs…those… Daleks in human skin!"

Wiping the saliva off her face, Sanders guffawed.

"What's so funny?!"

"You are. I forgot how quick-tempered you were."

Fumed, Shel attempted to take a swing at Sanders with her cuffed fists.

Sanders caught her wrists in time and unlocked her handcuffs.

Shel watched them fall to the sand, buried in seconds by the strong winds that whipped over the grains.

"Now then," Sanders began. "If you could take a moment to pull your head out of your butt and _not_ try to kill me, you'll understand _why_ I escorted you miles out into this godforsaken land where those meatheads can't hear us."

Shel stood muddled over this sudden shift in her behavior.

All she could do was hear what she had to say.

"My plan – the one I tried to tell Neas about before Agatha so rudely interrupted me – is right in this world we're standing now. This is where we'll make our last stand against Dalek Vec."

Shel gazed around at the terrifying place – it seemed like the right spot for a fight.

"Not far from us is an outpost," Sanders continued. "There, you'll find a woman named 'Min.' She's created a beacon that will draw all the versions of us – past, present, _and_ future – to this world. The only catch is it'll also draw in Vec, but doing so will give us the window of opportunity in nailing his sorry butt for good."

It all sounded too good to be true.

Shel eyed her suspiciously. "How do I know you're for real on this? How do I know it's not some sick way of giving me a false sense of hope before I die out here from thirst or starvation?"

Sanders scoffed at her paranoia. "Do you seriously think I'd let _myself_ die?"

She had a point, but it did not stop Shel from cross-examining her further.

"We're a smart bunch," she said with folded arms and a smug expression. "You could've just as easily found a way to exist without your past regenerations. Or could you _really_ be the Master?"

Sanders groaned. "Alright, alright. I get it. Here…"

From out of her right leg cover, she pulled out her own sonic screwdriver. It was a bigger, more polished design than the one Shel kept in her jeans pocket. It had gold and chrome plating, a blue tip, and a few blue orbs contained in a small cylinder near its end.

"Take this," Sanders offered. "It's pinpointed to Min's beacon and will lead you right to her location."

Shel accepted the Gallifreyan tool, her hearts swelling with contentment in the loyalty of her future regeneration.

Without hesitation, she leaped right into a hug with her.

"Thank you," she softly said.

Sanders smiled. "Well, this is _a lot_ better than getting mucus in my eye."

"Sorry about that."

"Meh, I had it comin'."

The two women let each other go.

Sanders turned to depart. "I'd better get back before the Fratellis think something's up. Remember, follow the signal and you'll find Min and her outpost."

Shel nodded in comprehension.

After spending a minute to watch Sanders leave for her T.A.R.D.I.S., she activated the sonic screwdriver entrusted to her. It produced a low whirring noise, facing the direction Sanders headed in. Gradually, she circled her body until the noise increased in pitch. Like a compass, it pointed her to the precise bearing she needed to go.

"Sanders, you are a true wonder."

* * *

"What is taking her so long?!"

In his angst, Benson paced all around Neas's console room, crowded from the presence of Mandy, Clarence, the rest of the Park crew, and Neas himself. Lauren Louise went right away to the T.A.R.D.I.S. wardrobe, spending hours in search for clothing suitable to her new body.

"Every second we just sit here is another that puts Shel in danger!"

"Benson, relax," Neas said. "Nothing's going to happen to Shel. She's a regeneration before Sanders. I don't believe she'd foolishly place her life at risk, knowing that."

"I still can't believe that muscled Amazon with the lack of dress code is what we'll become one day," Mandy panned. "She seemed mighty willing to help the people that shot at our father."

Neas shrugged. "I can't justify those actions, but I _can_ trust she won't let the Fratellis harm Shel. And I don't suppose the Fratellis will harm her themselves, if they need someone to pilot that T.A.R.D.I.S. of hers."

Following this rationalization, collective gasps could be heard from the main entrance, which Neas carelessly left open after everyone was inside. Because of his negligence, the kids of the realm they were currently present in – who refer to themselves as "Goonies" – curiously entered the Gallifreyan capsule and admired the dimensionally disproportionate interior.

"Oh, no, no!" Neas sternly hollered to the children. "This isn't a tour bus! We're not taking any more passengers than we necessarily have!"

"We're comin' with you guys." Mikey determinedly avowed. "The Fratellis know about the treasure, thanks to your scantily-clad friend back there, and we're not gonna let them take it."

"These people shot a dude in cold blood." Mordecai elicited. "Are you seriously going after them for some old treasure?"

"I said the same thing," Brand uttered, "but there's no changin' Mikey's mind, once it's made up."

"Well, try harder." Neas suggested.

A horrified shriek from Andy drew everyone's attention back to the main entrance where Gen, who Neas was appalled at himself for forgetting, arrived with one more commuter: Sloth.

"Friend. Come. With." Gen decreed with that kind, loving smile Neas just could not say "No" to.

He felt a hand clasp his right shoulder, turning to see Mandy smugly grinning.

"This is why the T.A.R.D.I.S. _is_ bigger on the inside," she ribbed.

* * *

Another hour of waiting for Lauren brought Benson to his boiling point, his dome converting to a shade of red Mordecai and Rigby were all too acquainted with.

To ease his vexation, Neas headed to the T.A.R.D.I.S. wardrobe.

The space inside was as colossal as the rest of the ship, housing an endless range of apparel. Some were picked from previous travels or left by others who traveled with Neas. Most were designed to suit particular time periods or locations. Different levels, divided by a winding staircase, helped prearrange the assortment.

He found Lauren one level below, heaps of clothes scattered around her, including the bloodied Tuskegee uniform of her predecessor.

She just slipped on a fresh pair of black leggings but neglected to put on a shirt (or bra) beforehand.

"Aw, geez! Pop!" He griped, shielding his eyes. "Ya gotta remember to cover up those things!"

Lauren was initially lost on his meaning until she looked down and realized her lack of modesty. Quickly, she tried on the first available thing she could find – a cropped grey t-shirt.

"You can look now," she permitted.

Neas unshielded his eyes, breathing in relief.

"Sorry, son. It was always so easy putting on pants first. Guess I'd better get into the habit, eh?" She sat herself on a nearby stool, finalizing her new look with ankle socks and black Nike shoes. "I know I've been up in here for quite a long time, and I'm sorry to keep everybody waiting. I just don't know what young women wear nowadays. Being as old-fashioned as I am, and having lived so long into the 1940s, I'm at a loss."

"Well, for one, girls normally wear bras," Neas indicated before swiftly adding, "but you can work that out later – just try not to go into any _cold_ areas for a while."

Lauren gave an understanding nod. "O.K. Anything else?"

"You're off to a good start with the leggings. I've worn a pair like those every regeneration or so – just not _this_ one."

Lauren tittered in amusement. "I had no idea what they were when I tried them on. I thought they were long underwear or somethin'. You mean to tell me girls _wear_ these, knowing full well how much the booty shows in them?"

"I'm afraid that's the whole point of them, Pop."

She stood up from the stool, taking a gander at herself through the floor mirror standing beside her.

Her face blushed at the reflection. "Dear me. I feel so naked in all this." She moved in close, hunched over, evaluating her new face for the first time. "Not a bad lookin' kid I turned into though. No going back to 1943. The boys' heads would turn, seeing their old flight lieutenant back as a young white Englishwoman."

"Are you feeling alright, Pop? After regenerating?"

"The first time I did, it was a difficult experience – your mother can tell you. Thankfully, she was there to help me through it. But this…this will take some getting used to. I just hope the rest will handle itself. Other than that, I'm happy to be alive."

Neas smiled. "Thank God for Time Lord D.N.A."

Lauren pouted, turning away from the mirror and facing her son. "I'm sorry that I never told you who I was, all those years we fought in the war."

"I understand now why. Fighting alongside my old man? It would've been a whole lot harder." He radiated with sudden revelation. "Hey, now that we're free from it all, how 'bout we catch up together, starting by going back to the old farm and seeing Ma again?"

"I…I don't know, honey." Lauren fretted. "Can you imagine how your mother would react to a fresh-faced English blonde and a tall black gentleman at her doorstep, claiming to be her husband and daughter – and in _that_ specific order?"

Neas saw her point. "Well, doesn't she already know how regeneration works by seeing yours up close?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Then problem solved."

"I'll…think about it."

Neas moaned. It was always the response he would get from his father whenever there was something he wanted.

Out of the blue, muffled chirping came from beneath one of the surrounding piles of clothes.

"Do you hear that?" Lauren quizzed.

"Yeah, I do."

Neas closely honed in on the noise, approaching one of the piles with Lauren at his side and removing the layers to expose the little Mogwai hiding beneath them.

Lauren gushed. "Awww! Who's this dear little fella?"

"His name's Gizmo. He's a gift from an old shopkeeper I helped when I was still me…er, Candace, I mean."

Scooping Gizmo out of the pile, Lauren cradled him tenderly in her arms.

"How'd you get all the way here, Gizmo?" Her speech verged on baby talk in her address to the tiny creature.

"I thought he was with Benson," Neas said. "The poor guy must be so nervous about Shel that he let Gizmo slip out under his nose."

Lauren giggled, enjoying every second in holding the Mogwai.

"I remember how much you wanted a pet around the farm," she reminisced. "Looks like you finally got one. Though I can't say your mother would ever approve. She always had the last say."

"You wouldn't mind keeping an eye on him, would ya?"

"Oh, I'm not letting this little fella out of my sight for one second."

"Great. Just be sure to follow these three rules: don't let him near bright lights or sunlight – they'll kill him; don't get him wet, because he'll multiply into evil versions of himself; and last, this one's most important, _never_ feed him after midnight."

Lauren's mouth gaped in disbelief. "So much responsibility for such a cute little fella. How did you manage for so long?"

"Lots and _lots_ of patience." He faced towards the exit. "Ready to head back?"

"Wait," Lauren beckoned. "We can't go until _you_ change, son."

Neas chuckled. "Why bother?"

"Well, I just remember what Sanders said about us and our clothes back when we were in that basement. A wardrobe change would do you as much good as it did _me_. And, like you said, we aren't fighting in World War II anymore."

* * *

Without spending nearly the lengthy amount of time Lauren did, Neas committed himself to her suggested change of apparel. He knew precisely what contemporary attire he wanted to wear, having kept it in mind for several years.

When he and Lauren returned to the console room, he sported his new _signature_ style: a black hoodie worn over an untucked purple shirt buttoned up halfway and a turquoise undershirt with a white trim; a loose blue-and-grey striped necktie; stonewashed blue jeans; and black polished dress shoes.

Silence and astounded gazes welcomed the pair in.

"What?" Neas asked them. "Lauren made me do it. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Mandy replied. "You both look so…different. Especially you, big man. You look like you stepped right out of a _Gap_ store during clearance day."

"Well, we all can't be fashionistas, can we?" Neas jested, tugging the lapels of his hoodie. He shifted his focus on Lauren and the control console. "Pop, could we please get started on finding Sanders and Shel?"

She executed his request straightaway, moving to the console whilst popping her knuckles and going to work on the controls.

The launch back into the dimensional corridor went smoothly.

But then things got intensely rough, forcing every T.A.R.D.I.S. passenger to brace themselves as the room rocked back and forth.

"Skips, I thought you repaired this thing!" Rigby screamed.

"I did!" The yeti retorted.

"Well, you did a bang-up job at it!" Rigby belittled.

By a few speedy recalibrations, Lauren brought the bumpy ride to an end.

An instant thereafter, a knock reverberated from the closed doors – a gesture that distressed them all, specifically Lauren.

"We couldn't have come out of the corridor _already_ ," she disproved.

Neas braved himself to respond to the person on the other side, opening the T.A.R.D.I.S. doors.

His eyes enlarged with astonishment.

There in front of him stood a teenage girl with cropped red hair and thick-rimmed glasses, smiling.

"Sorry we bumped into ya'll," she cheerfully said, as if she were a neighbor stopping by for a cup of sugar. "But the professor says it's all good, so long as ya'll _don't_ touch any of the controls to _your_ T.A.R.D.I.S."

"The…professor?"

Neas stepped past the teenager, puzzled to see a grey-colored T.A.R.D.I.S. console room adjacent to his own, dramatically different in design.

Near the entrance he stepped through was a coatrack.

Large roundels made up virtually all of the wall space.

One reflective walkway ahead of the entrance led to this T.A.R.D.I.S.'s console platform, while another encircled it, interconnecting with a short flight of stairs across the room that led into a hall.

The time rotor at the center of the control console, lit in a bluish-green hue, extended down to the lower level compartments that could be openly observed from the main level.

Holographic imaging, projected from the time rotor itself, proved to be a vast upgrade for this T.A.R.D.I.S., replacing the large view screen of Neas's model.

It was a control room undoubtedly conceived by someone with a taste for high-class décor.

And that someone made her presence noticed at the console platform.

An emerald-eyed, fair-skinned young woman in a V-neck sweater dress, leggings, and knee-high boots that was as black as her hair looked towards Neas, grinning with luscious pink lips.

"Nice to see an old face again," she said with an empowering voice.

She was a definite sight to behold, though Neas reserved any verbal compliments.

"Who're you?" He prodded.

"Name's Kimbyr," the woman introduced, gesturing to the redheaded teenager behind Neas. "And the pocketful of sunshine there is Autumn, a companion of mine…apparently from another time."

"We're still trying to figure that one out," Autumn said.

Neas could not restrain himself from eyeing the bigger, brighter area.

"Your T.A.R.D.I.S. _fused_ itself to mine. How is that even possible?"

"It's the same T. .I.S.," Kimbyr informed. "Only it's regenerated…a lot like its pilot."

He gawked at the raven-haired woman, able to classify who and what she was, thanks to her subtle hint.

"And which number are _you_ on our list?"

Kimbyr pointed to herself and mischievously validated, "Sixteen."


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve: Flawless Victory**

A blood-stained karate gi was no look to sport for a newly regenerated body such as Lindsay's. For that purpose, a trip to the T.A.R.D.I.S. wardrobe was just what she needed, while her newest companions – Raiden, Wirt, and Greg – congregated in the control room.

She spent purely half an hour in choosing the right look, settling on a white shredded, ribbed crop tee with ripped blue jeans, open-toed white pumps, and a red bandana over her head. As an added bonus, she tied her long, flowing black hair into pigtails, drooping down her tight shoulders.

It was a style that perfectly mirrored the young farm girl she once was long ago, when she was still known as "Candace."

Their next destination being her old Georgia farmhouse also made it appropriate.

"Is this farmhouse like a safe house from whatever that thing was back there?" Wirt enquired the second Lindsay returned to the console room.

"Something like that," the hopeful Time Lady ostensibly guaranteed.

"You look nice." Greg complimented, in reference to her updated garb.

Lindsay smiled. "Awe! Thank you! It's just something I threw together for when we meet up with my Ma and Pa."

"You have a mother _and_ a father?" An amused Raiden said.

"I _do_ have parents, Raiden." Lindsay wittedly remarked. "I'm a Time Lady, not a goddess – even though I can understand the confusion between the two."

"It is merely the fact you have done much to convince me otherwise," the Elder God stated. "For instance, this vessel of yours, which has managed to bend the logics of physics. I have borne witness to such a wonder in Outworld. What realm do you hail from?"

Lindsay shrugged. "Depends, really. I was born on Gallifrey but raised on Earth…before going back to Gallifrey when I was just a teenager." She fleetingly sustained her left hand across her face. "Before I got _this_ model, I had five others. Here, let me show ya…" She turned to the control console, turning a knob and flipping a switch that activated the view screen near them.

The face of a middle-aged woman with dirty blond hair flashed onscreen. Despite a few mild lines and wrinkles, she was extraordinarily attractive with a tanned complexion that accentuated her light blue eyes. This image of her exhibited a smile that had motherly warmth to it.

"This was you?!" A dumbfounded Wirt questioned.

"Yep," Lindsay confirmed. "That's the original me – Candace."

Raiden regarded the image more closely. "You were more of a warrior in this incarnation than your preceding one."

"The Time Lords reengineered me that way…turned me into something close to a god, or a 'gladiator' is what they eventually called me." Lindsay reflected. "Heaven knows how I would've turned out, had I stayed on Earth and lived a normal life."

She switched to another image on the view screen.

A much younger woman with silver hair, lighter skin tone, and rose-red lips popped up. She had the same blue eyes as the one previously, yet her smile conveyed an air of arrogance rather than amiability.

"She's pretty," said Greg. "Who's she?"

"She decided to call herself 'Ms. Mars,' a clear reflection of the vanity she gained from that regeneration," Lindsay divulged, her tone suggesting humiliation.

"Aren't _men_ from Mars and women from _Venus_?" Wirt elucidated.

Lindsay was too embarrassed to supply a return to his on-point analysis.

Again, she changed the image.

A woman of Portuguese descent, slightly older than Ms. Mars, was now displayed. Compared with the two previous women, her countenance hinted more humility and forbearance. No longer did she possess the eye color that distinguished from her original form; instead, hers was chocolate brown in correlation with her foreign ethnicity.

"This one went by 'Isabel' and, not to sound bias, a favorite of mine." Lindsay documented. "I even got to learn a new language, thanks to a slight fault in the regeneration."

Another switch. This had practically become a slideshow of her past lives.

The next woman was a dramatic change from the last one. A platinum blonde with a wacky surface complimented by dark eye shadow and a colorful smile, she was nonetheless a beauty.

"This next model went by 'Cara' and gave me quite the impressive upgrade to my stereo system." Lindsay disclosed. "Thanks to her, I can listen to Bruno Mars from here down to the cloister room."

She concluded the impromptu slideshow with one last image of a dark-haired woman just the same age as Cara – one that Raiden already knew.

"Margie," he discouragingly identified. "She was your fifth incarnation."

Lindsay nodded. "And the bravest, taking on all the nightmares she faced in the tournament, which made the Time War look like _Sesame Street_."

"T-Time War?" Wirt inquisitively stammered.

"Maybe I'll get to tell you guys more about it, as soon as we arrive at the farm," Lindsay said, attending to the controls. "We're almost there."

* * *

Since Steven's "passing" a year ago, Kristin loved the opportune evenings when she could sit out on the front porch and look up at the twilight sky. The swirl of purple, blue, and orange, mixed with the moon and stars that welcomed in the night, was enough to take her mind off all the troubles of the world, hers included.

She imagined her husband – or the African American gentleman who used to be her husband – was out there somewhere, beyond the stars or beyond time and space, having adventures worthy of a retired inventor. She missed the days they and their daughter sat on that very porch together, taking in the breathtaking view.

Sitting there now, alone and cozy in her rolled-up jeans and red plaid shirt, she could only reminisce those good old times.

At least until five black SUVs trundled right along her front yard, their blinding headlights obstructing her view of the evening sky. She was urged to get up from the porch steps and approach the group of men that were akin to a S.W.A.T. team, with their black body armor and firearms.

"I ain't dealin' any drugs, if that's what this is all about," she stated for the record. "The only fields I'm growing here are for corn."

"I believe you, Ms. Curtsinger."

It was the voice of a woman speaking beyond the collection of men and headlights. Kristin squinted to see her before she ultimately decided to step forward and show herself.

She was a young brunette of forty years age, slightly pale skin, clear hazel eyes, and peach lips. Her tall, slender frame filled the skirted army service uniform she wore, pinned with a multitude of medals Kristin could not begin to ascertain.

"My name is General LeMarier," she introduced herself. "I'm with the U.S. branch of the Unified Intelligence Taskforce, better known as U.N.I.T."

"Never heard of it."

Kristin hated to fib, but she could not be certain these people were associated with such a high-profile military organization.

She knew of them from reputation, particularly through the Doctor, who was a known comrade of the late Brigadier Alastair Lethbridge-Stewart, one of U.N.I.T.'s founding members.

"We're hoping you and your husband will be willing to cooperate, Ms. Curtsinger," said LeMarier, non-threateningly. "Is he home?"

"No," Kristin coldly answered. "He hasn't been for quite a while now."

"Are you two divorced?"

"No."

"Has he passed?"

"Something like that."

LeMarier paused, contemplating that last response.

Her hands cupped behind her, she moved to one side of the yard, staring away into empty space.

The ulterior motives of this young woman bemused Kristin.

"What is it that you want, Miss LeMarier?"

" _General_ LeMarier, if you please," she hissed. "And I think what I want is coming precisely…" She glimpsed at the smartwatch bound to her left wrist. "…now."

Right on cue, heavy humming, grinding resonance – accompanied by a mild gust of wind – spread across the yard.

Kristin knew these effects as those commonly linked with a T.A.R.D.I.S.

To her immediate shock, one materialized right where LeMarier had been staring.

It was unlike any she saw on Gallifrey, yet she recognized it as the Type-Z model Steven once invented, back in the time they lived on the planet before Candace's conception.

A set of doors materialized on the reflective black marble, sanctioning the exodus of its passengers – a white-garbed man in a coolie hat, two boys in unusual costumes (one of them holding a frog), and a young pigtailed Asian woman.

"Ma," bellowed the young Asian, rushing to Kristin and embracing her. "Did ya miss me?"

Kristin's brow furrowed. "Young lady, I think you might have me confused with someone else."

The young woman let her go, distress settling in on her face.

"Ma, it's me…Candace," she said before coming to realization. "Oh, duh! You don't recognize me 'cause I've regenerated."

Hearing this, Kristin sensed the blood draining from her face.

"No," she gasped. "Not you, too."

Lindsay frowned. "What do you mean, Ma?"

"It happened…just like your father," Kristin tearfully bemoaned.

"Ma, you're scaring me," Lindsay whimpered. "What happened to Pa?"

"I believe this is a conversation that can be shelved for a later time," LeMarier interjected. "There are more pressing matters to tend."

Lindsay noticed the uniformed official and her escort for the first time since her arrival. "Who're _you_?"

"I'd rather not get into introductions _again_ ," LeMarier griped. "So why don't you ladies cooperate and come back to Washington with us?"

"We're not going anywhere until you tell me who you are," Lindsay demanded, standing protectively in front of her mother.

"She claims they're from U.N.I.T., but I doubt _that_." Kristin told Lindsay. "Whoever they are, I'm bettin' they're here for your father."

LeMarier sighed. "Wish we could've done this the easy way."

"What're you gonna do?" Lindsay derided. "Get your firing squad back there to execute us? Well, good luck with that, 'cause we got a thunder god on our side."

"Actually, I anticipated _he_ would come just as you would." The U.N.I.T. general then indicated her escort. "And these boys aren't a firing squad. They're more like a distraction from my _real_ backup."

Each of the U.N.I.T. soldiers traded addled squints, wondering what their commanding officer meant by that sentiment.

A fierce thunderclap bid their attention skyward, as the beautiful twilight sky was suddenly plagued by a large, swirling purple cloud.

"Storm's coming!" Lindsay cried.

"No," Raiden negated, examining the vortex more narrowly. "It's a portal!"

Certain enough, a penetrating white glow at the eye of the cyclone was validation to Raiden's keen observation. They witnessed the emergence of a lone figure rapidly descending from it, landing feet-first in the middle of the gathering there on Kristin's front yard and generating a brief but powerful tremor.

Joint gasps of horror met the grotesque, four-armed creature standing before them all, and only Lindsay and Raiden appeared to have known it by name.

"Goro!"

Impulsively, the U.N.I.T. soldiers opened fire on the otherworldly beast.

But Goro was quick to retaliate.

While the hail of bullets bounced from his inhumanly durable skin, he lunged at the soldiers, snatching two by their legs and a couple of others by their throats. Like a pair of nunchakus, he swung the soldiers he had by the legs against a few others. Blood sprayed from the gruesome impact of bodies crushing together.

As soon as he was through with his ravaged human weapons, he slammed them to the ground, turning them into nothing more than pancakes of flattened flesh and shattered bone in the dirt. Afterward, he snapped the necks of the two soldiers left in his grasp, killing them instantly.

The garish scene of violence concerned Lindsay of Greg, who had been watching it the entire time, open-mouthed in devastation.

"Ma, get yourself and the boys into the T.A.R.D.I.S. _now_!"

It took Kristin a short moment to obey, being as stunned as she was herself; but she did as Lindsay say, retreating into the ship with Wirt and Greg.

"Your execution has been arrayed!" Goro alerted Lindsay, pointing one bulbous finger her way, whereas his other three limbs tended to mash the life out of remaining soldiers' skulls.

Lindsay and Raiden did not bother to question the Shokan's mission and who sent him to accomplish it. They purely focused on ending the monster before it had the chance of destroying any more lives.

Charging at each other, the combatants engaged in the wildest two-on-one fight.

In her newest regeneration, Lindsay demonstrated to be much faster and stronger than her predecessor, holding well against Goro and his four destructive fists.

The conflict went in their favor before one fist connected to Lindsay's cranium.

It was a blow forceful enough to throw her across the air, smacking viciously against one of the parked SUVs.

Slumped against the vehicle, her vision turned hazy, seeing Raiden standing alone against the Shokan warrior. Wandering into a state of unconsciousness, the last thing she saw was LeMarier, the snooty U.N.I.T. general she encountered earlier, crouching in front of her with a wicked grin.

"Gotcha."

* * *

Flanked by the haziness in her vision and the throbbing pain in her head, Lindsay regained consciousness some minutes – possibly hours – later. The first face she had seen, from her horizontal position, was Wirt.

Half of a smile camouflaged the raw anxiety the boy had in him.

"Wirt," she groaned. "Is everything okay?"

"E-Everything's fine," he stuttered.

Looking past him, she noticed a void white ceiling. "Are we back in the T.A.R.D.I.S.?"

"No," Wirt replied, dispiritedly. "They've taken us aboard their…spaceship."

"They?"

It was agony to even try, but Lindsay forced herself to sit upright to see where they were.

A white cell big enough to hold a number of people.

Both she and Wirt were there with three others – an aggravated Kristin, a stricken Greg, and a forty-something woman with light brown hair, dressed in brightly colored sports bra and black yoga shorts with a hot pink trim, consoling Greg.

Yet there was a visibly absent Elder God from the assembly of prisoners.

"Where's Raiden?" Lindsay asked.

Wirt's head hung low. "He…He didn't make it."

Lindsay shut her eyes in mourning, having predicted the worst.

"It was incredible," Wirt began. "He fought that four-armed guy, Goro, like he was no competition at all. That general woman made us watch from inside the T.A.R.D.I.S. For a sec, it looked like there was no end to the fight. Then Raiden did this thing where he turned himself into one big bolt of living electricity and incinerated everything within a thirty-mile radius…your family farm, the crops, and even Goro." He somberly concluded, "U-Unfortunately, after that, Raiden was nowhere to be found."

"He sacrificed himself to save us," Lindsay forlornly murmured. Her focus shifted to her mother, who stood by them, arms folded and scowling hard. "Ma, you alright?"

"Heck naw, I'm not alright!" Kristin boomed. "I was havin' such a wonderful evening 'til you all showed up on my yard with that crazy woman and whatever in God's name that thing was! Now the farm – _our_ home – is gone, and we're stuck on a Dalek spaceship!"

Her last couple of words pricked at Lindsay's ears. "Did you say 'Dalek spaceship'?!"

"That's _exactly_ what she said."

All eyes shifted to the woman sitting beside Greg.

"Who're you?" Lindsay interrogated.

"U.N.I.T. General Yvette Dwonch of the U.S. branch."

Lindsay knowingly smirked. "So you're the _real_ general of U.N.I.T., which makes LeMarier…"

"A wolf in sheep's clothes," Dwonch finished. "Late one night, I was out jogging. Next thing I know, I get ambushed by a tall, skinny chick and placed up in this cell. Got no idea what her motive is in all this – just that she wants Neas." She worriedly exhaled. "God help that kid. He's probably the best hope we got, if the Daleks are involved in this."

"You know Neas?" Lindsay said, her curiosity peaked over the general's familiarity of her, despite only just meeting the woman.

"Tall, dark, good-looking young guy in a black hoodie, purple shirt, and loose necktie?" Dwonch described. "Yeah, I know him well enough to count the many times he's saved my booty – this one being number five hundred."

Her recollection of "Neas," specifically the difference in sex, befuddled Lindsay.

Of all the faces she could remember, none of them fit with Dwonch's description.

Could it have been a future regeneration?

She had no additional time to ponder on the issue, just as the cell door slid open, exposing a small portion of the Dalek ship's interior, its grim design utterly the opposite of the white holding cell.

A restrained young dark-haired woman in a lime green karate gi was shoved inside by LeMarier, whose bruised and bloodied face pronounced the result of whatever altercation it took to bring in the next occupant – Margie.

"Don't think for a second you'll get away with this!" She roared to her captor.

"I _am_ getting away with this!" LeMarier countered. She then scoped on Greg and mockingly queried, "How's our littlest inmate doing?"

"You leave him be, witch!" Dwonch barked through gritted teeth. "You got no right bullying this child any more than wearing _my_ uniform!"

LeMarier sneered. "Oh, but I think I look _good_ in it."

Dwonch was tempted to rush at her, give her one good right cross to the face.

She was only subdued by the mangled voice that supplemented a hydraulic whirr on its way inside the cell.

"If you are done prattling with our captives, LeMarier, we can proceed with our plans," it said.

Lindsay and Margie gulped on their air, seeing the familiar figure that strolled in.

"Davros," they acknowledged the visitor.

The Kaled humanoid mutant, and creator of the Dalek race, was just as they remembered him from the Time War.

Sitting in a life-support chariot that resembled the base of a Dalek, his skin was discolored and his body was crippled by an accident in his past, reducing use in his legs and left arm.

A blue lens in his forehead replaced his lost vision, allowing him a semblance of sight. By appearance, it mirrored the look of a Dalek's eyestalk lens.

A metal brace was attached to his head, and wires were plugged into his skull.

A throat microphone implant enhanced his damaged voice.

The only usage of his body was maintained through his right hand, which he used to operate controls on his chariot.

He arrived in the cell, with Dalek Vec strolling close from behind.

"At last, we have two of the Gladiator's regenerations," he gloated. "As well as their T.A.R.D.I. ."

"What's your game this time, Davros?" Lindsay grilled. "Wasn't the whole point of having Vec around to exterminate us one-by-one?"

"Extermination was one phase of our goal," he attested. "But then we discovered the vital key to an even greater one – interdimensional conquest. The power of your T.A.R.D.I.S. surpasses others, including the Doctor's. With many, we can harness the energy to channel the infinite dimensional corridor and reign over endless worlds. We shall be _unrelenting_!"

"So you gather our T.A.R.D.I. and us with them," Margie inferred. "Not only is your 'greater goal' crazy, it's incredibly stupid."

Lindsay cackled. "Yeah, there's a reason the infinite D.C. is _infinite_ , Davros. It would take centuries before you could collect all of us and our T.A.R.D.I. ."

"Unless there was a beacon," Davros assuredly contradicted. "Much like the one your father has established in one of the worlds."

Margie and Lindsay's bolstered fronts fell on this.

"Yes, your father…the Tinkerer…intends to collect all of your incarnations to ambush and defeat Dalek Vec." Davros revealed. "Only now, with two Type-Z T.A.R.D.I. in our possession, we have the technology to break through the dimensional barrier and exterminate you and your father in the name of the Dalek Empire!"


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen: Cosmic Girl**

If there was one superpower Kara Danvers appreciated most out of all she inherited as a Kryptonian on Earth, it was the power of flight. Soaring high above the clouds, within the planet's stratosphere, the wind whipped at her long, elegant golden locks and red, billowing cape.

Except for the wind itself, nothing could touch her at such a high altitude.

It was peaceful.

Well, _almost_ peaceful.

Whenever her super hearing – her _least_ favorite superpower – kicked in, and she heard the cries for help back on mother earth, there was no other option but to fly down and do what had to be done.

But what she heard were not cries; rather, it was shouting.

"This isn't the Earth where I wanted to be, Cara!"

Kara's ears tickled even more at what she believed to be her name than the recognizable voice that said it.

"Barry?" She muttered upon her descent through the troposphere.

It could not have been him. He was back on his own Earth, unless he somehow jumped back into hers again.

She followed his ranting voice right back to National City.

Her enhanced vision picked up his location on one of the rooftop skyscrapers where he bickered with a short-haired blonde in a black leather jacket and a t-shirt that bore the "House of El" family crest, albeit etched to show cleavage.

 _Are you kidding me_ , she irately thought of Barry's new friend.

Driven further into investigating this situation, Kara gracefully landed at the rooftop, her arms crossed.

"Didn't expect to see you again, _Flash_ ," she pretentiously addressed him by his superhero name. He was, after all, dressed in his suit.

He turned from the blonde, who Kara presumed to be "Cara," and the strange, towering rectangular solid behind her.

"Kara!" He shouted in his surprise. "Y-You're here!"

"I _am_ here – it's where I _live_ ," she said, maintaining her condescending tone. "The _real_ question, or should I say _questions_ , are what you're doing here and who's your new friend?"

"Oh, this…?" He gestured to Cara. "This is…uh…"

His stammering only made him look more ridiculous to Kara.

"My name is _also_ Cara," the blonde introduced herself. "You spell yours with a 'C,' too?"

Kara shook her head, grinning. "With a 'K'."

Cara's face lit with delight. "Oh! And the way you swooped down just a sec ago – you're an alien as well, I take it?"

"Kryptonian," Kara clarified before nodding to the solid near them. "You?"

"Gallifreyan – or 'Time Lady,' as I prefer it," Cara confirmed.

"Then may I ask _why_ you have _this_ …" Kara tapped at the crest insignia on her chest, "…on your shirt?"

Cara glanced down at her etched version, noting its similarity to Kara's. "Wow! This is gonna sound, like, stupid…but I had _no_ idea what this meant the day I bought it – which, for the life of me, I can't even remember. I figured it just stood for 'super'."

"It does on this planet," Kara said, her tone rising in disdain. "But, on mine, it stands for something greater…something very _personal_ to me! And to see it represented in the way it is on _your_ shirt just makes me…"

Barry could see Kara's pupils glowing bright red in her fury and feared that the good-hearted heroine was on the brink of incinerating Cara with her heat vision.

Immediately, he stood in between them.

"How 'bout we just chill for a minute? O.K.?" He pleaded, primarily to Kara.

There suddenly came an odd droning register that resounded nearby.

A trio of bizarre, bronze-colored mechanical beings resembling human-sized pepper shakers emerged from seemingly nowhere.

"What the…?!" Barry exclaimed.

His words were cut short by the frantic, automated voice of the one alien pepper shaker in the middle, who was assumed to be the leader of this trio.

"WE HAVE COME FOR THE TIME LORD KNOWN AS 'THE GLADIATOR'!"

Neither Barry nor Kara knew what to say to this pronouncement.

"I'm right here," Cara said, stepping forward with a risen hand. "Gotta admit, boys, I was expectin' your new, bouncin' baby brother Dalek Vec to show."

"WE WERE SENT TO PROCURE YOU BY DAVROS! YOU WILL SURRENDER TO THE DALEK EMPIRE OR BE EXTERMINATED!"

"Dalek Empire?" A bewildered Barry echoed. "Cara, what's going—?"

Without a word of caution, Cara's other hand, which she stuck into the left side pocket of her jacket, yanked out and flung a pink object of high plasticity directly towards the central Dalek.

Barry and Kara realized it to be Silly Putty, sticking right onto the middle Dalek's eyestalk and obscuring its eyepiece.

"MY VISION IS IMPAIRED! I CANNOT SEE!"

"Krypton girl," Cara addressed Kara. "Eviscerate these tin heads!"

Kara followed her instruction, producing her heat vision from her pale blue eyes and firing on the three Daleks.

Instantaneously, they each exploded into heaping piles of flaming, smoked scrap metal; their metal casings severed, exposing the mollusk-like creatures inside, now resorted to charred carcasses.

"What _were_ these things?" Kara questioned.

"Daleks," Cara solemnly answered. "Ones that came an awful long way just to take out _my_ sorry butt."

"You told them that you expected someone called 'Dalek Vec' to show up instead," Barry recollected. "Cara, are you being _hunted_ by these things?"

"Vec was the only one who did…up 'til now," Cara said. "The rest of the Dalek mafia's now somehow achieved trans-dimensional travel, which means my time on this Earth and _other_ Earths is runnin' real short."

"Hey!"

The voice called to their attention from behind them, right where the tall, rectangular solid stood.

Kara looked back at it with Barry and Cara, startled to see that a set of doors had in some way been established on the solid, opened inward to some type of futuristic control room that was much bigger than the solid itself.

Standing there in the doorway were two adolescent boys in the appearance of an anthropomorphic cat and goldfish with legs. The cat spoke explicitly to Cara, "I think your alarm clock just went off or something, because the console's buzzing like crazy, and what the heck just happened here?"

His transition was lost between describing the scene occurring inside the control room and observing the aftermath from the chaos that unfolded on the rooftop.

Cara, however, was intently stuck on the former occurrence.

"Buzzing, did you say?"

* * *

"Kimbyr," as this sixteenth regeneration called herself, was still much of a mystery to Neas, Gen, and Mandy.

All they knew so far was that she could make some mean waffles.

She made stacks of them for everyone to eat in Neas's console room, which began to smell like a _Waffle House_ restaurant.

"Anyone for seconds?" She offered.

"No, ma'am," Mouth said through a _mouth_ ful of waffles. "I'm good."

The others voiced their satisfaction and indicated their full bellies; even Chunk and Sloth could not take another bite.

Meanwhile, Neas kept to himself near the console, opting against eating any of Kimbyr's waffles. Finding him there, Lauren – who still had one waffle left on her plate – walked over and held it in front of his face.

The scent of syrup and cooked dough seeped into his nostrils.

"When was the last you've eaten?" She asked him.

"Seventeen weeks ago," he vacantly rejoined.

By his deadpan timbre, Lauren was unable to discern if he was serious or not.

"What's gotten into you?" She probed. "Ever since Kimbyr and Autumn showed up, you've been the grumpiest I've seen you since we were deployed over St. Anna."

Neas pried his eyes from the console, focusing them on Kimbyr.

"Look at her," he instructed Lauren, who did as he said, seeing Kimbyr take selfies from her iPhone 6 with Clarence. "She's forgotten so much – the wars we fought, the nightmares we've faced…none of it matters to her anymore. Is that really what I'll be in my sixteenth regeneration?"

"You sound surprised," Lauren noted. "I remember one little girl who could never stop having fun, no matter how much she tried."

Neas sighed. "Sometimes, in some lives, I wonder if that little girl still even exists after all she's been through."

"She does…in here." Lauren gently held a hand against his chest, feeling his overlapping heartbeats. "And, right now, she's over there." With the same hand, she motioned to Kimbyr, who continued lifting spirits all over the console room. "She showed up just at the right time."

Neas warmly smiled. "She did, didn't she?"

"I thought I recognized you!" They heard Rigby say at the top of his lungs, in regards to Kimbyr. "You're the PopSocket girl!"

"The what?!" Stef uttered in confusion.

"The PopSocket girl," Mordecai repeated. "Rigby and I watch her vlogs when we're on break every time. Most of them are about those grips you stick on the back of your smartphone."

Kimbyr was touched by the recognition. "Awe! So glad you guys watch my vids! As a matter of fact, I'm about to make another this second for T.B.T."

Mikey frowned, more perplexed than his fellow Goonies over the terminology thrown around like "vlogs" and "smartphone." Their mid-1980s intellects had not yet adapted to such twenty-first century lingo.

"T.B.T.?" He enquired.

"Throwback Thursday," Kimbyr simplified. "And you guys are all gonna be in it!"

Watching as she got her iPhone ready and faced it towards herself and the others, Neas panicked.

"She's gonna vlog up in _my_ T.A.R.D.I.S., Pop!" He told Lauren, who tried not to laugh as he frantically rushed over to Kimbyr and snatched the phone right out of her hand, before she could press the "record" button.

"Dude, what the fu—?!" Kimbyr stifled her profanity in acknowledging there were children present. "I mean, what the _fudge_ , dude!"

"We don't have time for your vlogging," Neas objected, pocketing her phone into the left side pocket of his hoodie. "There's a reason you fused up with my T.A.R.D.I.S., so tell us what it is."

Kimbyr crossed her arms, pouting. "Well, if you're gonna be all snappy, then _fine_. I got a mental call from Sanders, who filled me in on the big plan to get Dalek Vec off our butts for good. We're getting all of ourselves together and luring Vec to this one dimension – the 'Mad World,' Sanders calls it – and frying him with some of Min's hardcore tech!"

"Min?" Lauren recited the intriguing name. "Who's Min?"

Kimbyr awkwardly glimpsed her way, appearing to have forgotten the English blonde was there. "Uh…I'm not at liberty to say…at this point in time," she said in the most skeptical way imaginable to Lauren.

"So that's the grand plan Sanders tried to share with me back at the restaurant," Neas grasped.

"Yep," Kimbyr confirmed. "And she sent me the coordinates to the Mad World where Min's waiting for us."

"Great," Neas approved. "Let's go."

"Hold it!" Mikey intervened. "We still gotta stop the Fratellis from going after Willy's treasure!"

"And rescue Shel," Benson added.

Neas let out a frustrated groan. "Guys, look. I was willing to go along with the mission of stopping the Fratellis and saving Shel, but there are _bigger_ things happening here. Besides, we _still_ have no idea where they've headed in the infinite dimensions of time and space."

"They're headed to the past to get the jump on Willy and his treasure before it can ever be buried," Kimbyr stated.

Her significant deduction drew wonder and a bit of ire from Neas.

"How would you know that?" He queried.

"Because it's exactly the type of thing the rest of us would do," Kimbyr smirked.

Mandy nodded at this. "She's got you there."

"True. That." Gen affirmed.

Though he hated to admit it himself, Neas knew Kimbyr was onto something.

* * *

 _The Night Owl_ , a mid-seventeenth century English tavern, was the hot spot for a private ceremony held in honor of Captain William B. Pordobel. Once a court jester before he was an ingenious pirate, he was banished from the five Spanish courts for his practical jokes. Forming a merry band of pirates, he marauded hundreds of king's ships and accumulated treasure worth millions.

Along the way, he even fell for a silver-haired splendor of a woman who called herself "Ms. Mars," assisting him in his adventures alongside her own companions: a boy named Finn and his peculiar, talking yellow dog, Jake.

For this purpose, a celebration was necessitated.

Despite the raucous pirates having begun the festivities with their drunkenness, Mars extended the entertainment by climbing atop one of the tables and introducing the scallywags to a twentieth century invention known as karaoke with a song centuries ahead of their time:

 _I must have died and gone to heaven_

 _'Cause it was quarter past eleven on a Saturday in 1999_

 _Right across on where I'm standing, on a dance floor she was landing_

 _It was clear that she was from another time  
_

 _Like some Baby Barbarella with the stars as her umbrella_

 _She asked me if I liked to magnetize_

 _Do I have to go star-trekking 'cause it's you I should be checking_

 _So she laser beamed me with her cosmic eyes  
_

 _She's just a cosmic girl from another galaxy_

 _My heart's at zero gravity_

 _She's from a cosmic world, she's putting me in ecstasy_

 _Transmitting on my frequency, she's cosmic!_

The drunken Willy and his crew knew none of what the song or its lyrics meant; they only knew Mars had the most angelic voice worth singing along to. Her body swayed under the purple galaxy combat top she wore, her black combat boots stomping to the rhythm, nearly crushing a few crewmates' fingers.

Finn and Jake sat at one corner table, both drinking mugs filled to the brim with milk – the only non-alcoholic beverage they were _allowed_ to drink – and observing the evening's merriments.

"Man, Ms. Mars really knows how to throw a party," Jake praised.

"Yeah, man," Finn agreed. "She's really good at twerkin' her butt, too."

"Is _that_ what she's doing?! Man, I thought that—"

Jake jolted himself silent, as soon as he spotted a large group of strangers entering the tavern and into the disorderly party scene.

"Bro, we got crashers at ten o'clock," Jake warned.

Finn gazed at his wristwatch. "Huh. Well, it's only seven past eight, so we got plenty of time before they…"

"No, dude," Jake elucidated. "Look!"

Finn followed his direction, seeing the new arrivals himself.

"Aw, man!" He griped. "Willy's gonna flip when he sees those crunch-monkeys crashed his crew-only party! What do we do, man?"

"Hope that he doesn't notice?" Jake timidly suggested.

* * *

Neas knew the second he entered the tavern that he would be in for a moment analogous to when friends and family watch an embarrassing home movie. Finding one of his earliest incarnations dancing silly and whatnot atop a table to the whoops and whistles of cutthroats, his head hung in shame.

"You told me that in some lives you wondered if that little girl still exists," Lauren said to him. "Was _this_ one of them?"

In response to her inquiry, Neas pulled his hood over his head, tightening it to hide his humiliated face.

It did not help much to hear Kimbyr admit of Mars afterward: "She was always my favorite."

The dancing and singing stopped at the instant Willy fired his flintlock pistol into the air, taking out a portion of the ceiling. Mars and the crew froze and went silent, their attention squarely on Willy.

"I can't believe it's really him," said a starstruck Mikey, who was promptly shushed by Brand.

Willy outstretched his arms, which barely filled the sleeves of his flashy, flowery frock coat, smiling through his bushy brown beard as he moved towards Mars. "My darlin'," he poetically brimmed with lovesick joy. "My silver-haired bonnie lass, whose dress by means unknown to me or me crew captured the beauty of the stars and brought them down to Earth to praise the beauty that is you! My darlin' Mars, I've traveled with ye to the ends of the earth and back! And here, before the company of my crew, I ask thee…"

Approaching the table, he got down on one knee to the whooping and hollering of his men, who knew what was coming next.

Mars was truthfully elated, her hands over her nose and mouth – for once, not from the stench of the unhygienic men around her – and holding back tears.

Willy took in a hopeful breath. "Will ye mar—?"

 _ACHOO!_

Mouth's sneezing was all it took to ruin Willy's moment.

Enraged at the interruption, he stood and aimed his flintlock at the intruding characters that not only stepped on his incomplete proposal to Mars but also crashed in on a reserved gathering.

His men followed suit, taking out their pistols, rifles, and swords as an intimidating gesture to the intruders.

"Any of ye bilge rats got last words for comin' here better speak 'em _now_!" Willy coldly advised.

"Don't cut us, bro!" Muscle Man sniveled.

Mars looked over the poor souls Willy and his crew were on the verge of tearing apart. By the manner in which many of them were dressed, it was obvious they were _not_ from the seventeenth century.

Of course, the one thing that troubled her about the group was that some of the members were children.

"Willy, wait!" She beseeched. "Don't kill them! Let them have a chance to explain themselves!"

His finger itched to pull the trigger, yet he refrained himself in the humility of pleasing the woman he loved. "As you wish, me love," he obliged. "We let 'em speak their defense…and _then_ we kill 'em!"

His ravenous crew howled in bloodthirsty glee.

Neas tautly stepped forward. "Well…uh…m-my name is Neas…I'm a Time Lord from Gallifrey, and I…uh…"

"You be from _where_ , mate?!" Willy grilled. "Gale-le-frey? Must be a new home for Moors, 'cause I ain't ever heard of it!"

His crew cackled at his jesting, which the pirate captain did best.

Mars, in the meantime, was preoccupied with the name of this tall, dark gentlemen and where he hailed from.

"We just need to know if a hideous old woman and her two man-children happened to have come here," Neas said.

"No people by that description have stepped foot or peg in this merry establishment, lad," Willy denied. "Now, if we be so kind to proceed where we left off…"

"Hold it," Mars jumped off the table, walking up to Neas. "Where did you get your name?"

Neas knowingly smirked. "I was born with it…sometime before I decided to change it to 'Candace' and then – for some unknown reason – 'Mars'."

Mars's face dropped in realizing who and what this man was.

"Regeneration?" She questioned with a developing smile.

"Ninth," Neas meekly verified.

"And sixth," said Mandy, with her hand halfway raised.

"Eighth," Gen also substantiated, pointing to herself.

"Sixteenth, right here, baby!" Kimbyr flaunted.

Mars widely ogled the emerald-eyed woman. "Sixteenth," she yelled. "We're only allowed _twelve_ regenerations! Where the heck did _you_ come from?!"

"A long story, I'm sure," Neas said. "But it'll have to wait another time. There's a mob family from the twentieth century – the Fratellis – coming for Willy's treasure."

"They be comin' for me _what_?!" Willy thundered with unfathomed indignation.

"How does a twentieth century mob family get to the _seventeenth_ century?" A flummoxed Mars inquired.

"They had some _forced_ assistance from another regeneration of us," Mandy informed.

"Sound like some bad dudes," said Finn, both he and Jake waltzing into the conversation. "Especially if they're daring to take Willy's treasure."

"No interloper's stealin' from Captain William B. Pordobel," Willy boldly declared. "Unless they be wantin' to keep their thumbs!"

Mikey and the other Goonies were in total awe being in the presence of _the_ legend of the Goon Docks. He could hardly contain his excitement so much that his asthma kicked in, prompting him into using his inhaler.

Catching him with it, Willy engrossedly asked, "What be that magic tool you're usin', boy?"

"I-It's just my inhaler, C-Captain Willy, s-sir," the spellbound Mikey spluttered. "A-And I j-just wanna say, on our behalf – a-and by 'our,' I m-mean us, the Goonies – that you're our biggest fan…I-I mean, we're your…"

"I think he gets the picture, Mikey," Neas interposed. "Captain, if you'd be so kindly to permit us to accompany you and your crew on your voyage, so that the 'interlopers' don't succeed in getting your treasure?"

"Offerin' to protect me booty, eh?" Willy twigged. "Captain William B. Pordobel needs no protection from interlopers!"

"Willy, darling," Mars urged. "Take the offer."

The captain fretted with the decision; he had his reputation to consider but also wanted to keep his fiancée-to-be happy.

"Oh, alright!" He finally coincided. "Sleep hearty this night! We sail at dawn!"


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen: Min and Gen**

"This is preposterous! My father will surely hear of this!"

The loud rantings of Draco Malfoy filled the T.A.R.D.I.S. console room that he, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley stood in with Bugs, Daffy, and Gizmo since avoiding their plight back at Hogwarts.

It went on for minutes, blustering garishly enough to get the attention of the two women – one of whom lied about being a student of Hogwarts – that brought them to the dimensionally disproportionate capsule.

After a while, Bugs asked of the fuming Draco, "Is he _always_ this antsy?"

"You've no idea, mate," Ron exhaustedly remarked.

"I have every right to be furious!" Draco protested. "I was taken against my will and imprisoned in this…whatever it is!"

"It's called a T.A.R.D.I.S., Malfoy," said Hermione, though she was no wholly confident on the concept herself. "That's what Maureen calls it, at least."

"Maureen," Malfoy cursed the name. "She's not even who we _thought_ she was. How can we trust _anything_ she says ever again?"

"Because she saved our lives when she didn't have to, Malfoy," Harry defended.

"Yeah, _our_ lives," Draco scornfully emphasized. "Meanwhile, the rest of Hogwarts is left to burn from that monster!"

"She had no other choice," Harry said.

"So she says," Draco jeered. "How do we know _she_ isn't responsible for what happened?!"

"You're right."

They turned to where the voice spoke from, discovering Maureen standing in a doorway that led further into the alien spacecraft.

The first surprising thing Hermione noticed about her was how she changed her attire. No longer did she sport her House Gryffindor robes, but a more punkish style of clothing with a denim vest worn over a red-and-blue plaid shirt, light jean shorts, and crimson leather boots.

"Maureen," she gasped. "You look…different."

"Had to change out, since I'm not who you _thought_ I was…right, Draco?"

Maureen's glare met with that of Malfoy, who refused to say anything to the Time Lady. In a huff, he went to the nearest corner of the room to sulk in.

"I'm sorry if you lot feel like you're being held against your will," Maureen said, "but none of you can go back to where you came from, not while Dalek Vec is still huntin' for ya."

"So where are we goin'?" Ron asked.

Maureen shook her head. "I haven't the slightest idea. Rhyanna would know best." She looked over the group, noticing her long-past predecessor to be missing. "Where is she?"

"She's been in someplace called the 'Zero Room' for the last half hour," Harry notified.

Hearing this, Maureen moaned in aggravation. "Oh, no."

* * *

Rhyanna was the only one of the many lives of Neas to have used the Zero Room so significantly, but there was one time when she did that Maureen knew all very well.

The second Harry told her that she was there, she had to go in and check on her.

Considering it was Rhyanna's T.A.R.D.I.S. that they were traveling in, Maureen anticipated this Zero Room to feel like a sauna once she stepped in. Body heat exerted from five hundred years of intense yoga exercises.

Sure enough, it was.

She found Rhyanna sitting lotus style on the floor, her eyes closed and her hands clasped in the Namaste position, meditating.

"You've gotta be the most chilled Aussie I've ever been, you know that," Maureen teased, tugging at her collar. "My bloody goodness is it moist up in here! You should really consider installin' a fan or…"

In her jesting, she stopped as soon as she saw how Rhyanna's face had glistened – not from sweat but tears.

Her hearts sank, feeling guilty for having given her Australian predecessor such a hard time since their first chance meeting. She crouched down across from her, putting on her best comforting smile.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay," she told her. "None of this is your fault."

"I should've stopped it." Rhyanna opened her eyes, letting more tears stream out. "I should've stopped that monster from hurting everyone there."

"Sweetheart, there was nuttin' either of us could do back there. All that's gonna make this right now is beatin' the livin' tar outta that bloody tin can, once we cross paths with him again. So don't you go blamin' yourself for what he's done, or I'll kick your big Aussie butt myself."

Slowly but surely, a persuaded smirk developed on Rhyanna's face.

"Nice to see we still have a tender side in this regeneration," she complimented.

Maureen snickered. "Yeah, don't get used to it."

The two women shared a second of laughs before they were disrupted by a sudden blaring siren. Its quality was foreign to them.

"That's not the cloister, is it?" Rhyanna shouted over the deafening noise.

"No, this is somethin' new," Maureen corroborated.

Together, they rushed back to the console room where their companions were covering their ears.

Bugs was particularly affected by it, having the longest ears in the room.

"Any way you can turn off that racket would do us a _huge_ favor!"

Rhyanna happily accommodated by turning a few knobs on the console that muted the noise.

"What was that all about?!" Ron said, sensing as much numbness in his eardrums as everyone else.

Maureen glanced at the Gallifreyan calligraphy displayed upon the circular monitor positioned above one section of the console.

"Coordinates," she muttered. "Somebody just sent us some _weird_ coordinates."

"To where?" Harry queried.

* * *

Cobbled together with random parts she found all over the Wasteland, Min treasured her makeshift motorbike just as she did her T.A.R.D.I.S. The round, reflective, giant white-and-black marble was situated a few feet from her and the bike. She figured the others had been waiting some time for her to come back in and help prepare for the arrival of Neas and her many regenerations.

Up to now, they managed to draw in one with the beacon: a tall, sporty Caucasian blonde of Australian design with a friendly disposition. She arrived in that high rectangular solid she knew all too well, exhibiting black yoga pants and fitness jacket. She named this regeneration – her eleventh – as "Lindy."

 _Two out of however many ain't bad_ , Min thought.

Sanders was the only other one accounted for, yet she had the task of going out to gather Neas's regenerations, as well as those of her father. It should have been a simple scouting mission, even with a time machine; but, somehow, Sanders took much longer than necessary.

Tinkering on her motorbike, Min tried to imagine what took Sanders so long, until the moment that she heard distinctive humming and grinding.

She glanced to her T.A.R.D.I.S.

 _Nope. Still there._

She knew it to be the resonance of a materializing – or _de_ materializing – T.A.R.D.I.S.

Two others then registered, corresponding with the one.

Min stood up from her crouched position beside her bike, moving her welding goggles to her forehead to see _three_ rectangular solids manifest side-by-side within the occupied warehouse space. Their doors opened from the inside, and their passengers stepped out.

A young Portuguese woman with a boy, a short-haired blonde with a couple of costumed individuals and a pair of anthropomorphic characters, and two younger ladies with a quartet of teens in school uniforms.

Min interestedly eyed each and every one of them.

"There're so many of you," she said. "Any of you – _all_ of you – could be her."

"Could be who?" asked the anthropomorphic fish that accompanied the short-haired blonde.

"I believe she's referring to _us_ ," boasted the short-haired blonde, gesturing between herself and the Portuguese woman to her left. Approaching her, she continued, "I remember how much of a pain in the butt this one was, with her Latin tongue."

The Portuguese woman grimaced doubtfully. "Have we met before? In another time, perhaps?"

"This is regeneration, Isabel," said the blonde. "You've been through it twice already; don't get lost on me now."

Isabel's mouth gaped. "You are _me_?! _Ah meu Deus! Não acredito que eu tenha regenerado em uma tão jovem e peituda!_ "

The blonde peeped down at herself, one questionable eyebrow raised. " _Peituda? Realmente?!_ "

The exchange was lost on the ears of those around them, except for the two younger women out of the third Type-Z T.A.R.D.I.S., who giggled among themselves.

Detecting their snickers, the costumed man with the lightning bolt on his chest asked them, "You know what they're saying?"

"Course we do," replied the punk-styled woman, speaking with a Northern English accent. "We _are_ them!"

"Nice seein' ya again, Isabel and Cara," the other younger woman – another Aussie blonde dressed for fit activity – waved to her past incarnations.

Isabel and Cara glimpsed their way, both equally baffled and amused.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Cara expressed. "I've gone _full_ international in my old age."

"What are _your_ names?" Isabel enquired.

"Rhyanna," authenticated the Aussie blonde.

"Maureen," confirmed the Northern Englishwoman.

Min broadly smiled with satisfaction. "Now that makes _six_ of you we're able to get here."

"And where is 'here' exactly?" Cara questioned.

"Yeah, and who're you?" Maureen grilled.

"My name's Min and I'm going to show you just how we're stopping that pain-in-the-butt, Dalek Vec. I just hope the rest of you are on their way. I don't think we have all that much time left."

* * *

"I'm not sure when your last feeding was, Gizmo, but it's a little difficult to tell when we're bouncin' all around time and space."

The Mogwai concurred to that sentiment with a gentle chirp.

Lauren carried him into Neas's T.A.R.D.I.S., no longer able to withstand the sound of crashing waves or the nauseating sensation of Willy's ship – the _Inferno_ – swaying back and forth. Just the thought of it cramped her stomach.

 _Who knew this regeneration suffered seasickness_ , she amusingly thought.

Neas's T.A.R.D.I.S. was one of the few parked at the mast's base, right in the middle of the ship's deck. Those of Kimbyr and Ms. Mars were situated at opposite sides. Kimbyr compared the positioning to a close replica of Stonehenge.

Alone in the console room with Gizmo, Lauren scouted the console for the secret compartment she remembered to have installed for nutritional emergencies. The kitchen was quite a long ways from there.

"Teacher."

She joggled at the voice speaking directly behind.

Believing to have had the room entirely to herself and Gizmo, she was surprised to have seen that Gen followed her in, totally undetected.

"Oh…hello again," Lauren inelegantly greeted, mentally recalling their previous encounter in the same room of a different T.A.R.D.I.S., when she was Skeeta. "C-Can I…help you with…something?"

"Teacher," Gen repeated, maintaining that same robust smile.

Lauren softly chuckled; it was like déjà vu with this girl.

"I…I still don't know what that means, sweetheart," she confessed. "Can't you give me some kind of clue or…? Wait. Am _I_ the 'teacher' you're referring? When we were back on the farm?" She chuckled again. "Well, that's sweet, but I was only giving fatherly advice, really…"

She rambled until the second she noticed Gen lifting her eyepatch.

Lauren cringed, not anticipating the gesture or what was beneath that patch.

Fortunately, what she saw was nowhere near as horrid as she imagined. There was deep scar tissue that ran in a few jagged lines across the eyelid, creating small gaps in the skin that exposed the eye.

At least, what _looked_ like an eye.

A glint of gold flashed through the broken skin.

Rising up her damaged eyelid by the fingers of her left hand, Gen used those from her right to reach deep into her eye socket. The right side of her face winced as she pulled the foreign object out, holding it out in her hand.

To her astonishment, Lauren saw that it was a data orb.

Etched in its shiny gold casing were Gallifreyan hieroglyphics that translated into instructions that guided the user in how to insert the orb into the nearest console port.

And that was precisely what she did, after Gen graciously handed it over to her.

The view screen automatically flickered on, once the T.A.R.D.I.S. picked up on the data orb.

A dark-haired young woman with distinctive cheekbones appeared in view; she wore skintight black leather pants and a fur coat as red as the clothes Lauren wore when she was "Steven" on Gallifrey. Her eyes were crystal blue, and her skin was fair. She was worthy of being a runway model.

"Data Log 137," she registered to the camera, speaking with a voice that carried much warmth as it did authority. "This entry is placed by Min, seventh regeneration of the Tinkerer."

Lauren's ears perked at this bit of detail.

" _This_ is Min?" She gathered. "Min is _me_."

"Are we ready?" A woman off-screen addressed Min in the recording.

The voice was undoubtedly Gen's, only it sounded _a lot_ more together in sanity with a breath of supremacy.

"We're set," Min answered. "Let me just set the anti-gravity function."

The camera wobbled slightly as she made the adjustment and then lifted above her head, slowly rotating to show the entire three-sixty panorama of the console room.

In the rotation, Gen popped into view.

Lauren was struck with awe in how vividly dissimilar the "Gen" in the recording looked from the one presently standing beside her. She sported a black leather jacket, a white tank top, skinny jeans, and boots. Her long blonde hair tied in a single ponytail, as opposed to the pigtails of her present-day self.

"Do we really have to bring that thing with us?" She griped of the floating orb.

"It's important to document your journeys," Min said. "You should know this."

Gen rolled her eyes – _both_ of them. "Fine. Let's…"

Before she could say "go," the footage momentarily scrambled, transitioning to a later time. Now Min and Gen were trekking through a forest of living trees, with Min consistently oohing and awing at the majestic scene.

Again, another jumbled time skip in the footage.

Min now sat again in front of the recording orb, situated back in its port on the control console. In the backdrop was Gen, practicing with a bō staff.

"Today's our tenth day in the realm," Min logged. "The creatures we've encountered here are more fascinating than any we've…" She stopped herself mid-sentence, as if to consider what to say next. "I suppose, for the record, I should say that it's more fascinating than any _Gen_ has encountered."

"What about me?" The distracted young blonde questioned, twirling her staff in one hand.

"Nothing," Min quickly remarked, switching the orb off.

Another unspecified jump in time.

Min and Gen inspect a dark cavern. The feed on the orb had switched to night vision, displaying an eerie visage, not unlike any seen in a horror film.

"There's nothing here, Gen," Min pleadingly said. "Let's just go."

Gen shushed her. "I heard something in here. It's gotta be—LOOK! RIGHT THERE!"

The camera jerked, fighting to capture what Gen sighted.

Lauren could only perceive what seemed to be a malnourished, humanoid creature crawling on its hands and legs before the footage abruptly scrambled back to the console room and a visibly shaken Min.

"We shouldn't have been in there," she recorded. "The man…if I could even call _it_ that…was so…disturbed. H-He wanted to _eat_ us, but I sure wasn't going to let _that_ happen!" Her tone was fierce, but she took a moment to calm herself before she continued. "I think Gen took something from him. She's been coped up in the Zero Room ever since we got back from our last trip. We _need_ to leave this place or else…"

Another transition.

Min and Gen engaged in a shouting match through one of the corridors in the T.A.R.D.I.S.

Gen also had taken on more medieval attire for reasons that were not clear in the recording. Much of the data in the orb was erased, leaving gaps between certain intervals of the entries. In one, Min and Gen were disputing over their prolonged stay in the realm; in another, Min rescued Gen from an imposing creature that was described as an "Orc" in the recording.

But the most disturbing entry was one entered by Gen herself.

Inside the heavily dimmed Zero Room, her manic, bloodied face closed up on the camera. Her hair was disheveled, much of it dangled over the left side of her face, which bore a bandage over her mortally wounded eye – the same one her patch currently hid.

"They…want…it," she wheezed. " _She_ …wants…it. But…she…can't. It's…mine. Mine. Mine! Mine! MINE! MINE! MINE!"

This unsettling entry was cut short, swapped with a more serene one by an emotionally drained Min, once again inside the console room.

"Data Log 743," she grimly registered, tears streaming from her eyes. "This _final_ entry is placed by Min, seventh regeneration of the Tinkerer. There's nothing more I can do for my little girl. That fierce woman I once knew was gone. The ring changed her into this empty shell she is now. It's been returned to Gandalf, who promised me that it'd be destroyed at once. But the damage has already been done to Gen.

The mind of a Time Lady was never meant to suffer such an effect. I only pray that, through the healing power of regeneration, she'll be herself again. But, for now, it is my deepest regret to leave her be, with only this data orb – which I've altered for all intents and purposes – to serve as a reminder to myself. One day, Gen, our paths will cross again, only our faces will be different. None of this will have happened for me yet, but all of it – as much as your mind will permit you to remember – already has. When you see either a handsome, bald black gentleman or a twenty-something English blonde, that'll be me, sweetheart. Your father…your teacher."

This final entry finished on a freeze frame of Min's smiling, hopeful face.

Lauren's was drenched in her own tears, having sobbed through it.

She felt Gizmo squirm in her arms, reminded of him being there; his writhing due to the danger of tear droplets falling on him.

Remembering one of the rules to caring for him, Lauren handed the little Mogwai over to Gen before her emotions literally put him at risk. After drying her face, she looked on Gen, only to see a new party that had joined them in the console room.

It was Neas.

"How long have you been standing there?" She asked him.

"Long enough, Pop," he said. "Long enough."

By his hardened demeanor, she suspected him to have watched the recording with them, either at the beginning or somewhere in between.

As he sat upon one of the chairs on the console platform, she opened up to him, "I know that I can't apologize for things I haven't done yet, but I am _truly_ sorry. I'm just… _sickened_ that she…that _I_ would just leave you like that! I…" She fought through tears to get her apology in order; yet, no matter how hard she tried, there were no words to justify herself.

"You were right to do what you did," Neas forgivingly stated. He nodded to Gen and earnestly added, "We were spiraling out of control, because of that ring. The way she is now…that's proof of what evil can do to someone so pure. But you, Pop…you're proof of what _good_ can do for someone so corrupt."

Half of a humbled smile sympathetically formed on Lauren. "I've been a terrible father…and yet you somehow find it in both your hearts to forgive me."

Neas playfully shrugged, grinning. "Yeah, you _are_ a terrible father. But no father is perfect."

Lauren chortled at his lighthearted jab.

He stood up and shared in a hug with her.

Gen warmly watched close by with Gizmo cooing in her arms.

The tender moment was snappishly disrupted by the sudden clanging of the cloister bell all around them.

"Danger," Neas uttered. "From inside?"

"You guys better get out here!"

They heard Rigby, poking his furry head through the entranceway of the T.A.R.D.I.S.

Following in his instruction, Lauren and Neas hurried out back onto the ship deck. Gen joined them soon thereafter, leaving Gizmo behind in Neas's T.A.R.D.I.S.

Willy and his spooked crew witnessed alongside the Time Lords and their companions the materialization of a fourth Type-Z T.A.R.D.I.S. right in the middle of the deck.

"Another one of us?" Ms. Mars probed to her successors.

"You could say that," grumbled a despondent Neas, knowing exactly _who_ was in this specific materializing T.A.R.D.I.S.

The instant that it solidified, a few of its passengers stepped out straightaway with guns drawn. "This is a stick-up," one of them shouted.

"No, matey," Willy argued. "This be an execution."

All of his crew, himself included, drew their flintlocks and swords on the three interlopers, pressuring them to drop their guns in a state of panic.

"I take it _these_ are the twentieth-century gangsters you warned us about?" Mars presumed.

Mandy confirmed this with a nod. "Oh, yeah."

"Not exactly the bright bunch, are they?" Kimbyr observed.

" _Oh, yeah_ ," Neas emphasized.

The last passenger of the T.A.R.D.I.S., a middle-aged woman whose scantily-clad attire came as a shocker to Mars, emerged from the Gallifreyan ship.

"Who in the universe is _that_?" Mars asked. "Don't tell me _she's_ another one of us – not with all _that_ goin' on!"

Neas was too reserved to verify that Sanders was indeed another regeneration.

"WHERE IS SHE?!"

The fuming Benson briskly loomed on Sanders, pushing his way past Willy's crew and the Fratellis.

"WHERE IS SHEL?!"

"Whoa, whoa! Relax, Benson!" Sanders exclaimed. "Shel is safe in another dimension. I dropped her off somewhere she can find a woman who's gonna help us beat Dalek Vec."

Hearing this confession from the Time Lady, Agatha scowled in her direction.

"You lied to us!" She snarled. "You're dead meat, girlie! I'm gonna kill ya, if we make it out of this alive!"

"If _any_ of us make it out," a terrified Mordecai gulped, pointing skyward. "Look!"

Everyone on the deck tracked his gaze to the massive flying saucer of a spaceship that descended from the clouds and hovered directly over the _Inferno_. Its colossal, rotating presence disrupted the waves, causing the pirate ship to lurch profoundly.

"YOU WILL SURRENDER!" The booming voice of a Dalek ordered through the saucer's loudspeakers. "WE CLAIM THE TIME LORDS, THEIR COMPANIONS, AND YOUR CREW IN THE NAME OF THE DALEK EMPIRE!"


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen: Alien Abduction**

 _In the desert sun every step that you take could be the final one  
In the burning heat hanging on the edge of destruction  
You can't stop the pain of your children crying out in your head  
They always said that the living would envy the dead_

 _So now you're gonna shoot bullets of fire  
Don't want to fight but sometimes you've got to  
You're some sole survivor  
There's just one thing you've got to know  
You've got ten more thousand miles to go_

 _Because you're one of the living  
And if we can't stick together  
One of the living  
Who's gonna make it tonight_

Ten hours going, and Shel still continued trekking across the wasteland under the scorching sun. The sonic screwdriver loaned to her by Sanders helped her all through the way, steering her right to the signal from Min's outpost.

The journey was treacherous.

Not only did the sun challenge the endurance of her Time Lord biology but so had the fierce sandstorms she fought through. She moved her plaid shirt from around her waist to a wraparound on her head, keeping her long, sweat-drenched hair as dry and cool as necessarily possible.

Fourteen more hours later, and no outpost in sight.

Was she right to have distrusted Sanders? The very woman who did whatever she needed to succeed, even align herself with a family of gangsters?

She really did leave her to die, wandering this barren landscape and endlessly searching for a place that possibly only existed in her mind. Still, it made no sense. They were the same person. It was like committing temporal suicide.

Her vision turned hazy; she finally reached her limit.

Before she collapsed into the sand, she could somewhat see a person and a car in the distance. She tried calling out, but her throat was too dried out to utter so much as a syllable.

Thankfully, the stranger detected her, as he or she drove his or her vehicle to her, immediately after her fall.

She drifted into unconsciousness, just as her new friend lifted her from the sand.

* * *

An unstipulated amount of time passed before Shel regained consciousness again.

This was the second time as of late that she woke out of an insentient state; it was beginning to become tedious.

She discovered herself no longer plagued by the harsh wilderness she was in moments ago. Instead, she was placed into the comfort of a plush white bed, complete with sheets and a spread. She was still in her clothes, dirtied from the outside environment, though her shoes were removed – judging from how bare her feet felt beneath the sheets. Her hair, free of her makeshift turban, was dry and even well-conditioned by some means.

It was all confined within a spotless, white-walled room with decorative T.A.R.D.I.S. roundels.

Was she back in _her_ T.A.R.D.I.S.?!

It was certainly _a_ T.A.R.D.I.S.

The room's only automatic door slid open, permitting a young black gentleman to enter with a tray of food and water, palpably for Shel. His clothes were a stark contrast to the unblemished interior of the room, dressed in jeans, a dark beige welding jacket, and brown boots.

"Hey, Shel," he said in the friendliest tone of voice. "How're ya feelin'?"

Shel flinched at his awareness of her identity. "Who're you? And how do you know my name?"

"I call myself 'Philip Gipson.' I'm your father."

Shel blinked blankly a few times. "What?"

"Actually, I'm his final regeneration," Gipson explicated. "Would be nice to have more lives though – that way I can continue doing what I do best: traveling and tinkering."

Shel felt like she was back out in the sweltering heat, her head spinning madly from the hullabaloo Gipson spouted.

"Philip?" She heard the voice of a thickly-accented Australian woman.

One in fact stepped inside, a tall blonde wearing black yoga pants and a fitness jacket to match.

But she did not come there alone.

Shel almost could not believe her eyes.

Standing with the Aussie woman was her father – her _real_ father – Steven Curtsinger. He looked slightly younger than she last remembered him, dressed in his scarlet Arcadian robe, which she only had the pleasure of seeing him in from old photos of his first trip to Earth so many years ago.

"Gipson," he addressed his ultimate successor. "What _are_ you doing to our lovely young guest here?"

"I was just going to give her something to eat," Philip innocently said.

"Well, you just let _me_ take care of that, eh?" The Aussie blonde insisted, taking the tray from the young Time Lord. "You get back in the control room and help the others with the project."

Gipson willingly accepted his order.

He took one last glance at Shel, smiling.

She returned it with half of one, still uncertain as to how the young man could be the final regeneration of her father.

Once he left her alone with Steven and the Aussie blonde, she went right away to asking questions: "What did he mean he was your 'final regeneration,' Pop? Are…Are _you_ a Time Lord?"

Steven sat at the foot of the bed, deeply sighing.

"Yes, I am," he verified to Shel's immediate surprise. "And Phil really is my last regeneration – as far as I know."

"Does Ma know?" Shel queried.

Steven nodded. "She did long before you – or the _first_ you – was born."

Shel's eyes went to the tall Aussie blonde, focusing on her for the second time since she walked in. "And are you…another regeneration of him?"

"Actually, I'm a direct regeneration of _you_ ," the Aussie told her. "Your eleventh one, in fact. I call this one 'Lindy'."

Shel smirked. "I figured. We seem to have a thing about turning Australian."

"I've noticed," Lindy said with a giggle. " _She's_ here with us, too."

"And where _is_ 'here'?" Shel questioned. "Is this Min's outpost? Her T.A.R.D.I.S.?"

"It's _my_ T.A.R.D.I.S." Steven clarified. "Min brought me fresh out of Gallifrey, when things got out of control. In this point of my lifespan, I'm still living there with you, your mother, and your twin brother."

"My _what_?!"

Her reaction sincerely baffled Steven. "You mean you _don't_ know about your brother?"

"Until this very second, I didn't know I _had_ a brother! I grew up an only child!"

This disconcerted Steven. "Then that only confirms what Kristin and I have been planning this whole time. We've been making considerations on your brother…to give him away."

Shel was stricken by this revelation but nonetheless intrigued.

"What's his name? My brother?"

"We named him 'Christopher,' after my favorite Earth explorer, Christopher Columbus," Steven divulged. "I truly wish we could raise him, bring him back to Earth with us…it's just…the circumstances of his birth left us with no other option."

Shel's curiosity grew. "What was wrong with him?"

For a brief moment, Steven deliberated continuing his story of the brother Shel never knew, but he diverged.

"How 'bout we instead get you fed, young lady?" He asserted, shielding his discontent behind a warm smile. "You've gotta be famished from your long journey out across the wasteland." His tenderness turned to baffling displeasure when he asked, "Why didn't Sanders bring you here herself?"

Shel tried not to sound too reticent as she answered, "She's been… more preoccupied with _other_ matters."

"Well, I hope she won't be gone too long," Lindy expressed. "She's just as integral to our plan as the rest of us."

"The plan to lure Dalek Vec here and blow him back to hell?" Shel recounted. "Yeah, Sanders told me all about it, before she left me here to find you guys."

"That _was_ our plan, until Davros' ugly face showed out of nowhere," Steven informed her.

"Davros," the alarmed Shel uttered the name she knew all too well. "Oh, god. Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse."

"And they have," Steven said. "He and his armada of Daleks discovered where we've been operating. It's only a matter of time now until he—"

"STEVEN!"

He was interrupted by the sudden reemergence of Philip, this time accompanied by a dark-haired woman with definitive cheekbones and dressed in a denim vest, a black bra, black shredded leggings, and brown boots; a pair of dirtied goggles was strapped to her forehead.

"He has them," the woman alerted with bated breath. "He's got the other versions of Neas!"

* * *

The _Slayer_ was the designation of the Dalek flagship that the seven Gladiator regenerations were transported to, along with their Type-Z T.A.R.D.I. and companions. It loomed in Earth's orbit – the biggest saucer in a mass armada that someway found themselves in the present parallel dimension.

They were all thrown into a holding cell already occupied by two earlier regenerations, Margie and Lindsay. Along with them were their own confidants, including – to their horror – one Kristin Curtsinger, their mother.

"Ma?" Neas whispered.

He saw her to one corner of the increasingly crowded cell, arms folded and with a very pissed-off expression concealed on her face.

Before he could think about going to her, he was caught off guard from the sudden embrace supplied by a middle-aged woman with light brown hair and in fitness attire. She planted a long, wet kiss against his right facial cheek.

"You beautiful man," she said. "So happy you're here! I know you've got just the plan for gettin' us out of this!"

He gawked in the direction of Kimbyr, who he noticed stifling a snicker.

"Have we…met?" He asked the woman _still_ hugging him.

Her overjoyed face morphed into puzzlement. "You don't recognize me? After what we went through in New York? With the Global Lockdown?"

Neas shrugged underneath her lasting embrace. "Sorry. Don't have a clue."

She finally let go of him, her bluish-hazel eyes glaring. "Who are you? What've you done to the _real_ Neas? Are you a Zygon? Is that it? We kicked your butts the last invasion! Don't think I won't _now_ in this room!"

Kimbyr could no longer hold it in, bursting with the loudest snort.

"And what's the deal with Megan Fox over here?" The woman asked of the guffawing Kimbyr.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she calmed herself, holding her sides. "Oh, man! I forgot how much I loved your company, Dwonch!"

The woman called "Dwonch" glowered. "Have _we_ met?"

"Not yet," Kimbyr established, then gesturing to Neas. "And, from this big guy's perspective, he hasn't met _you_ yet either." She then introduced, "Neas, meet U.N.I.T. General Yvette Dwonch of the U.S. branch. She'll one day be your _very_ best friend."

He looked to the woman with newfound interest.

"U.N.I.T., eh? Heard a lot about you guys from the Doctor. Your founder was the Brigadier, right?"

Dwonch nodded, taking on a more formal address with him. "That's affirmative. His daughter, Kate Stewart, is the new Chief Scientific Officer. I keep in touch with her every now and then."

"Well, I wish I could say that we _did_ come here with a plan – seems like I'm good at coming up with quite a few of them in your point of my timeline," Neas discerned.

Dwonch glimpsed back and forth between the tall black gentleman and the emerald-eyed woman dwarfed by him. "So, you two are the _same_ person? Just different regenerations?"

"Yup," Kimbyr conceded. "And so are they."

She gestured to the other captives in the cell, specifically Margie, Lindsay, Mandy, Sanders, and Gen.

"Oh, man," the overwhelmed Dwonch mumbled. "I'll need a chart to keep up with all of you!"

The audible hiss of the cell door attracted everyone's attention just as Davros himself returned with Dalek Vec and a woman sporting a black, short-skirted dress with skulls and roses printed over it. Neither Neas nor Kimbyr recognized her.

"Who's the chick?" Kimbyr asked Dwonch.

"Calls herself 'LeMarier,'" the general disclosed. "It's 'cause of _her_ sorry butt that mine got up here in this mess."

Davros, Vec, and LeMarier did not arrive alone.

Guided inside by two more Daleks was Candace – Neas's original incarnation, looking just the way she did shortly after leaving the Time War.

Her presence there in the cell drew dismayed gasps from her future regenerations.

"Yes," Davros ravenously sneered, as if reading their minds. "We have obtained your original form, Gladiator. As such, the process of your extermination has sped tenfold. Her death will ripple across all your lives, wiping each of you from existence instantaneously."

"Then do your worst right here and now, Davros!" Candace pugnaciously challenged, arms outstretched. "I'm so _sick_ of when you freaks just talk and talk and never do a thing 'til the moment has passed! It's no wonder you always keep losing!"

Davros furiously writhed in his chariot, tempted to accept the Time Lady's dare.

But he kept himself composed enough to cackle right in her face.

"As enticing as it would be to exterminate you myself, I have a promise to keep for a new disciple," he said prior to turning away from Candace and departing the holding cell with Vec and the other two Daleks.

LeMarier remained behind briefly to point at Neas with a larger, bulkier, and lethal sonic screwdriver-like device and say, "You. Come with me. Don't refuse, or else I'll have to use this on you."

Neas froze.

All the attention swiftly shifted from Candace to him at LeMarier's beckoning; all except for Kristin, whose focus was still on Candace, daunted to see her heavily grown daughter there with them in the cell. Earlier, he noticed how Lauren was the same way, seeing Kristin the second they arrived.

"It's okay, hon," he heard Dwonch whisper to him, after he unknowingly hesitated for some time. "We'll still be here when you get back."

He did not really need this assurance from her but was thankful of the thought regardless before complying with LeMarier's request. He followed her out of the void white holding cell and into the dark, foreboding corridors of the Dalek flagship where they wandered, side-to-side.

A few minutes of uncomfortable silence passed between them.

Neas could not be certain if this were a cordial stroll through the ship or she was escorting him to a torture chamber.

"It's called a laser screwdriver," she eventually spoke in reference to the sonic screwdriver-like device she beforehand threatened him with. "It was gifted to me by a Time Lord known as 'The Master.' Have you heard of him?"

"Enough to know he was a madman who's tried many times to kill the Doctor or anyone else that got in his way," Neas stiffly said.

"Well, that's _your_ opinion," LeMarier refuted. "I know him to be more of a hero than the Doctor ever made himself out to be."

"The Doctor never saw himself as a hero."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, it is."

LeMarier paused for a mordant snicker. "You _would_ know him best, since you've traveled with him in the past. Heck, you've probably even known him more as a father than the one who gave you up to him."

"You know _nothing_ of my father!"

"I know him _way_ more than you think you do yourself! I know that English broad with the booty you came here with is his second regeneration – and one unbelievable regeneration at that! I wonder if his sick old mind wished _really_ hard to earn _that_ body on his deathbed!"

Neas could only stare at her questionably; no retort he could offer in response to her accurate observation.

"I know that you, when you were still that old blonde back in the cell, lived on a Georgia farm with the old man – the alien refugee from Gallifrey – and the human wife he tried so hard to keep from the Time Lords!"

"Who are you?"

LeMarier simpered. "I'm your twin…a mistake given up by good ol' Ma and Pop Curtsinger _long_ before they did the same to you. Only I wasn't as fortunate to live the good ole life of a farm girl, as you did. Nope. The only mother and father I ever knew were the Rani and the Master. They tore me away from my adopted family on Gallifrey, killing them just so I could be raised as a weapon and cunning soldier. I didn't get that blissful childhood most kids got. No, all _my_ days were pain and suffering."

She reached into a pocket on her dress where she retrieved an old Polaroid, handing it over to Neas.

He glanced at it, seeing that it was a photograph of a young black man that closely resembled Neas in his current ninth regeneration with dark curly hair and lightly tinted brown eyes.

"That was me, in my original form," LeMarier identified of the photographed man. "The only photo I have of the part of me that was taken away. The Master and the Rani _forced_ me to experience regeneration. They made me learn and remember how it felt, as if they knew it was going to happen to me again and _again_ in my future."

Her devastating story made Neas sick to his stomach, but no more so than seeing legitimate tears stream down from her eyes as she recounted it all.

This broken woman – his twin sibling – was family.

"I'm so sorry," he supportively told her. "To be raised by the worst criminals of Gallifrey…you didn't deserve that."

LeMarier sobbed right in front of him.

He was compelled to take her into his arms, consoling her as she wept into his shoulder.

When she began to subside, she looked up at him, her mascara partially ruined.

"Escape with me," she pleaded. "I have a ship stashed in the dimension we're taking all of you. As soon as we get there, I can take us out with my vortex manipulator." She tapped at the brown leather-strapped tool on her left wrist. "We can leave all this behind us – Davros, the Daleks, and especially our old man! We can be free! And I can finally use _this_!"

From out of another pocket on her dress, she presented a vial of a glowing gold liquid that Neas gazed on in awe.

"Is that what I think it is?" He asked.

LeMarier nodded, grinning from ear-to-ear. "Regen-8! The very formula concocted by ancient Gallifreyan science, enabling a Time Lord with _full_ control of their regenerations, removing death as an achievement! Not since Rassilon rediscovered it has anyone perfected it!"

"And if it's _un_ perfected, it can have severe side effects," Neas warily noted. "The overload of regenerative energy can burn you out like a lightbulb!"

"I promise you that _won't_ happen," LeMarier reassured. "Just _please_ come with me, Neas! If you don't, you'll die in the arena!"

"The arena? What's the—?"

"Stop asking questions and do as you're told!"

Her rashness distressed him. He could see now where the upbringing of the Master and the Rani had imprinted itself on her. Sure, this woman was his blood, yet there was too much corruption in her to accept whatever freedom she recommended.

"No," he defiantly refused.

There was a hint of remorse in her otherwise frustrated countenance.

She pocketed away both the vial and photograph that she snatched back from him.

Cleaning her face with her hands, she distantly professed, "There's nothing else I can do for you then. I saw a chance for you and myself to be equals, using Regen-8 to degenerate back into my original self. Truth be told, _this_ regeneration of you is absolutely perfect. But you will _never_ be, as long as you continue modeling yourself after your dear Doctor."

With the snap of her fingers, she summoned two nearby Dalek sentries that Neas only now noticed to have been there through the entire exchange.

"Take him back to the cell," she commanded. "And neither of you breathe a word of this conversation to Davros."


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen: For the Chosen Few**

" _No way to control it! It's totally automatic, whenever you're around! I'm walking blindfolded, completely automatic, all of my systems are down! Down, down, down!_ "

Nina's backside, obscured by the white-and-black plaid shirt tied at her waist, swayed to the tune of the Pointer Sisters. Her head bobbed from left to right, with her lengthy, black Joan Jett-styled hair sweeping along. She was watchful of the components inside the control console of Steven's T.A.R.D.I.S., which she was on hands and knees modifying with her sonic screwdriver.

"Can we _please_ cut this crap off?!" The vexing voice of Alyssa griped from outside the console structure.

An infuriated Nina crawled out from inside, nearly banging her head, to give a defiant stare to her preceding regeneration – a brown-haired, olive-skinned woman in a bright pink top and black shorts. "Don't diss on my Pointer Sisters, Alyssa," she growled.

As two latter regenerations of the Tinkerer, Nina and Alyssa were as intellectual as their original incarnation, Steven Curtsinger, yet they differed vastly in personas. Whereas Nina was the fun-loving type with a passion for dance and music, Alyssa was more focused and straightforward.

That much was obvious since Min recruited them for this undertaking.

"There should be _twelve_ of us working here," Alyssa voiced her grievance. "Five of us busting our butts is not enough."

"There'll be more – just you wait and see," Nina confidently guaranteed. "Before you know, Sanders will be on her way here with Skeeta."

Alyssa scoffed. "She's sure taking her sweet time." She then switched gears and addressed in a very sour tone, "And exactly how is _Philip_ useful again? The last regeneration of us, and he's a total geek!"

"Oh, leave the lil' fella alone," Nina defended. "I think he's cute."

"Cute?" Alyssa cringed. "Honey, Dwayne Johnson's cute – and I would've appreciated it more if we'd regenerated into _him_."

Nina tittered. "Philip is the perfect definition of what it means to be a tinkerer."

Alyssa disapprovingly shook her head, unable to bring herself to agree.

And she did not have to with the disruption that vigorously blew into the immense console room. Min and Philip returned with Steven and Shel in tow, as well as the other five accumulated regenerations of Neas and their companions.

"So what's the plan for dealing with Davros and his armada?" Alyssa asked Steven and Min directly, paying no mind to Philip.

Isabel shuddered. "Davros is involved now?!"

"And did you say he's got an _armada_?!" Cara exclaimed, dreadfully emphasizing that last term.

"Who – or what – is Davros?" Harry questioned.

"Think Lord Voldemort, only a gazillion times worse," Maureen streamlined.

"Bloody hell," Ron nervously respired.

"To answer all concerns, yes, Davros will be here _with_ a Dalek fleet," Steven stated. "He'll undoubtedly use the T.A.R.D.I. he's obtained through the other incarnations of you they've captured to create a cross rift in space and time, big enough to allow his armada to storm into the dimension."

"If his armada is as big as I think it is, then that cross rift could tear the very fabric of reality," Barry circumspectly theorized. "And not just _this_ reality, but an infinite number of them."

"Well, that sounds absolutely terrifying," Gumball said. "But check out the big brain on you!" He enthusiastically nudged Barry on the hip.

Barry grinned. "I…I have a bit of experience in dimensional rifts."

"Trust him, he _does_ ," vouched Kara.

"I realize the disastrous influence a rift that size can have," Steven accredited Barry's observation, "but I also believe we can use it _against_ Davros and his fleet. We call in _more_ reinforcements, strengthening the beacon enough to broaden the signal and reverberate it across the infinite D.C."

"Uh, excuse me, Pop?" Cara said, raising her hand to direct everyone's attention to her. "What other reinforcements could we possibly call on?"

"I'm willing to bet there's more of you out there with even more experience and companions to overwhelm Davros and his armada," Steven wagered.

"I doubt that," Maureen rejected. "I'm the last of my regenerations – the twelfth overall – and Time Lord biology shows we're only allowed _twelve_ regenerations."

"But you're _not_ the last," Philip told her. "There's a _thirteenth_ regeneration of you out there, and her name's Sanders. We've met her. She's the one who helped make all of this happen."

Maureen's jaw dropped at this news; she was speechless with disbelief but, most of all, elation.

"Steven, you said we're gonna strengthen the beacon," Min said. "How are we gonna do that, when we're already exhausting enough energy from your Type-X T.A.R.D.I.S. as it is?"

"Simple," Steven brimmed with confidence. "We use the available Type-Z models we have. Collectively, they have enough energy to boost the signal."

Catching on with her father's idea, Rhyanna shared in his conviction.

"Sounds ace, Pop," she said. "Let's get to our T.A.R.D.I. , grab some connector cables, and give it a go!"

Cara winced uncomfortably. "Wouldn't 'T.A.R.D.I.' be the more appropriate plural form of 'T.A.R.D.I.S.'? 'T.A.R.D.I. ' just sounds so _weird_! Like, you don't say 'Jedis' when referring to more than one Jedi."

She continued in her ranting while following Rhyanna, Isabel, Lindy, and Maureen out of Steven's T.A.R.D.I.S. and to each of their own.

Watching them depart, a puzzled Darwin scratched his head and looked to Bugs. "Excuse me, Mister Bunny," he said. "But do you have any idea what's going on?"

Bugs shook his head. "Not a clue, shrimp."

"Uh, just for reference, he's a goldfish, not a shrimp," Gumball told Bugs.

With so many of the ship's occupants pointlessly communing among themselves, including his Hogwarts peers, Draco Malfoy seized in the opportunity of sneaking out of Steven's T.A.R.D.I.S., following the exit of Rhyanna, Isabel, Lindy, Cara, and Maureen. He managed to do so, utterly unnoticed.

* * *

Lauren fought the unbearable impulse to walk right up to Kristin, standing there across from her and keeping to herself from the overcrowding number of captives. It disgusted her to think that Davros and the Daleks would have the gall to abduct her, just to use her to control Neas and his other lives.

If anything she wanted to do for her there and then, it was comfort her.

Luckily, Candace had it covered.

Her face was the only true proverbial one that Kristin needed right now.

"You holdin' up okay, Ma?" She examined.

Kristin put on the best smile she could for her. "I'm hangin' in there, hon. I'm just thankful you're here, even though I don't _want_ you to be. I suppose if there's any bright side to this, it's that we're back together. I just wish your father…" She choked, tears welling up.

"They didn't get _him_ also, did they?"

"No. He's…" Kristin could not bring herself to reveal to Candace about her father's Time Lord background. She instead shifted the discussion back on her daughter, explicitly centering on her hardened physique. "My goodness! Look at you!" She cupped her hands at Candace's biceps, squeezing them. They were like solid rocks to her gentle touch. "You've grown into quite the amazon!"

Candace chortled. "Yeah. It was more Gallifreyan science than good ol' family genes. Rassilon turned me into his personal weapon for the Time War – made me into the Gladiator I am now."

"We should've never allowed the Doctor to take you to Gallifrey. Had you not gone…I mean, if I had known about any of what's happening now beforehand…I would've done everything to keep you safe back on the farm."

"Ma, it's alright. Truth be told, I'm grateful for the chance of growing up on the very planet where I was born. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have been on all the adventures that have turned me into the brave woman I am here and now."

Kristin lovingly beamed. "Oh, sweetheart. I always thought of you as a brave one, long before then."

Candace's hearts touched from her mother's sentiment.

The poignant scene between them was shortly disrupted, thanks to Lauren, who approached Kristin purposely.

"Everything okay?" She caringly inspected.

"Yes, I'm fine," Kristin maliciously snapped at her. "My daughter here was gracious enough to check on me, not that it's any business of _yours_ , young lady!"

"Ma," Candace scolded.

"I'm sorry," Kristin grumbled. "But we're packed up in here with total strangers – I don't care if some of them are just you with other faces – and I just lost my farm to a bunch of Daleks!"

"What?!" Candace _and_ Lauren simultaneously exclaimed to the unsettling news.

"And I'm startin' to feel like this is all your father's fault," Kristin told Candace.

"Don't say that, Ma," Candace said. "If Pop were here, he'd try everything to get us out of this."

"I _really_ wish I could believe that, sweetheart," Kristin refuted. "But he's made too many mistakes in the past that _we're_ takin' all the heat for."

Lauren could not have felt more ashamed of herself, listening to the justified rantings of her wife from her original life. In fact, her entire day has been one huge consequence to her past actions.

"She's right," she guiltily muttered. "My secrets…my actions…I've made too many faults that have rippled across the universe. All I can say is that I'm sorry."

Kristin quizzically frowned at the guilt-ridden young Englishwoman. "What're you babblin' about?! _Who_ are you?!"

Lauren shrugged, lightly chuckling. "I'm beginning to ask myself the same question."

She turned away, retreating back to the corner of the cell she emerged from.

"See what I mean?" Kristin refocused on Candace. "There are some unbelievable weirdoes in here."

Candace did not look away from Lauren, following her retreat.

There was something about the young woman she recognized in the way she folded from Kristin's condemning tongue, which was not even directed at her.

"Excuse me for a sec, Ma."

Leaving her side, she joined over to Lauren's.

Without the slightest bit of hesitation, she consciously whispered to the English blonde, "Pop, is that you? You're a Time Lord?!"

Lauren's crystal blue eyes widened at her awareness.

"How did you know it was me?"

"Well, from the way you just caved to Ma back there, it was pretty obvious. Plus, you've been always known to do that, whenever she blames you for something."

Lauren side-eyed the nearby Kristin. "Not to her, it seems."

"Why don't you just tell her? She's right there."

"She's going through enough stress with this situation we're in. Outright telling her that I've regenerated _again_ – for the second time, as a woman – would only put her further through the ringer."

A short distance from the two conversing blondes was Kimbyr, secretly fiddling with her smartphone – an act that caught the surprise of Margie, Lindsay, and Autumn.

"You mean the Daleks actually _let_ you keep that?!" Lindsay probed.

"More like they _failed_ to," Kimbyr said, her emerald eyes not once diverting from the bright touchscreen. "I kept it in a _very_ safe place."

"What place is that?" Autumn enquired.

Kimbyr coyly smirked. "You don't wanna know."

"Can you get a signal?" Margie asked.

"I can," Kimbyr confirmed. "Long before this mess hit the fan, I amplified the signal to reach out across dimensions – and I managed to pick up on Min's signal. I threw a text message over to her just now."

"Who's Min?" Lindsay quizzed.

"More importantly, will she be able to help us?" Margie added.

Kimbyr despairingly sighed, pocketing her phone away. "I don't even know. All we can do now is hope she gets my message."

"C'mon, Greg. Please try to snap out of it."

The women's attention was mutually drawn nearby to Wirt, who was crouched right in front of his catatonic half-brother, Greg. Dwonch was there beside Greg as well, cuddling him.

Not one to ignore a child in need, Kimbyr came to Wirt's aid, with Margie, Lindsay, and Autumn following close behind.

"What's the matter with him?" she asked.

"H-He was scared stiff, watching a four-armed monster tear grown men _literally_ to pieces," Wirt described.

Margie grimaced. "Did you say 'four-armed monster'?"

"Yeah," Wirt acknowledged. "His name was Goro."

"Raiden and I fought him at the farm," Lindsay forlornly told her preceding regeneration. "He didn't make it out of the fight."

Margie wished Lindsay had not relayed that information to her. From her point of view, those events had yet to occur. With the timelines out of sync, she would forget all about it; but she would first have to make it out of their predicament alive. She would rather not let the notion of Raiden's death be the last thing on her mind before dying herself.

After getting over her grief, she refocused on the petrified little boy in front of them. Nodding to him, she asked Wirt, "What's his name again?"

"Gregory," Wirt replied. "But I usually call him 'Greg.'"

"Lemme see what I can do," Margie volunteered, taking Wirt's place in front of Greg and placing her fingers against his temples.

Wirt, Lindsay, Kimbyr, Autumn, and Dwonch all watched as she closed her eyes and employed a type of telepathic link between herself and Greg. Lindsay and Kimbyr knew Time Lords were capable of such a feat, at least from what they were taught by the Doctor. One unique use for it involved hypercubes, a Time Lord form of communication that physically resembled white cubes, able to store a Time Lord's thoughts or speech before sent across time and space.

Margie's link with Greg lasted for as little as a few seconds until…

"WHOA!" Greg yelped, inadvertently silencing the other captives. "I had the coolest dream!" He pointed to Wirt. "You were there!" And then to Lindsay. "And you were there, too!"

Margie reopened her eyes, smiling.

"He's…He's alright!" A jubilant Wirt cheered. "I-It's like he doesn't remember."

"Remember what, Wirt?" Greg asked.

"Nothing," he told his brother. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"Of course I am," said Greg, who afterward reached into his lime green overalls and retrieved a handful of candy. "Any you guys want some?"

"I'd _love_ some," Margie consented, taking a piece from the child. "Thank you."

It was the happiest little moment under the grimmest of conditions.

Unfortunately, as they were, it was short-lived.

The hiss of the opening cell door became a cause for concern for the captives, considering that it meant bad news every time.

All eyes centered on it, just as Neas returned, escorted by two Daleks.

Once he was in, the Daleks departed and resealed the cell shut.

Neas had not anticipated such a "warm welcome" as the one he got with all of his fellow hostages crowding around him and showering him with desperate questions, like reporters at a press conference:

"What happened?"

"How long are they gonna keep us here?"

"Why did she want to talk to _you_?"

"Did she hurt you?"

"Did you try to negotiate with her?"

"What's going to happen to us?"

Neas did his best to calm the large ensemble before him, but his voice could not carry over all the frantic, overlapping queries. The best he could do was shout at the top of his lungs, "QUIET!"

And he got exactly as he requested, not a minute after.

Clearing his throat, he continued, "It wasn't much of a conversation – more like a personal proposition that I'm not going to detail on. All I know is that the Daleks are taking us to the arena."

"What arena?" Mars asked.

"LeMarier didn't tell me," Neas said, "only that they intend for us to fight to our death inside it."

"To our _death_?!" Andy cried in panic, clinging tearfully to Brand.

"If that be what those bilge rats desire of us, then me and my crew will go down fightin'!" Willy declared to the eager roar of his men.

"I don't wanna fight to my death!" Rigby whimpered. "Can't we talk this over with them?!"

"Talk nothin'!" Finn aggressively disputed. "Let's just kick their butts!"

"We don't even know if they _have_ butts, man," Jake said. "Did you even get a good look at their cans? They're _actually_ cans!"

"I don't think any of you guys have to worry," Neas convinced them. "You're all only leverage."

"Gee, thanks," Benson sardonically uttered.

"No, he's right," Sanders supported. "The Daleks are forcing _only_ the regenerations of the Gladiator to do battle, not their companions." She then morosely added, "And they could mean for us to fight _each other_ to the death."

The possibility angered Lindsay. "They don't have the guts to kill us themselves, so they want us to do the job for them. What a bunch of—!"

Her expletive was cut off by the hiss of the cell door, once again opening to permit the visitation of Davros, Dalek Vec, and a few other enforcers. Their presence in the cell was met with more intensity than previously, knowing what they had in mind for the prisoners.

"Dalek Vec," Davros beckoned.

"YES, MY MASTER!"

"You will escort the Gladiators to the teleport, once after I have selected three of their companions to join them."

"IT SHALL BE DONE, MY MASTER!"

"So much for 'leverage,'" Benson gritted to Neas.

The captives tensed more than ever, as Davros proceeded to survey them, his chariot whirring through the collective. Some of them fretfully parted, not desiring to be hand-picked by the mad, deformed man.

After minutes of mental torture, it appeared that he made his first selection, edging dangerously close to Clarence. The pudgy ten-year-old was terrified already of him by his monstrous appearance; the prospect of being forced into fighting to his death was a cruel joke at his expense.

Mandy did her best to shield him with her body, yet Davros tested her, circling his chariot around them.

Lauren's fists clenched in viewing this repulsive scene of the Dalek creator toying with Mandy and the frightened child. "Davros," she screamed, bringing the spectacle to a much-needed end. "You're a bully, you know that? No, you're _worse_ than a bully – you're a _coward_! Enlisting children to fight for your sick pleasure!"

His inquisitiveness now fixated on the young English blonde, Davros honed his chariot in towards her.

"Your voice…could it truly be you? _My_ Tinkerer?" He insatiably rasped. "You have chosen a new face since our paths formerly crossed – much younger and feminine – a reflection of your beautiful mind. The same mind I owe to the Dalek Empire's discovery of trans-dimensional travel. And, as a gesture of my gratitude, _you_ shall be my first choice in accompanying your Time Lord offspring in the arena."

"I'm looking forward to it."

It was a bold-faced lie, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of reveling in having the upper hand on her. From his disgruntled expression, her efforts paid off.

"Steven?"

She turned her head and glimpsed over to Kristin, hearing her utter the name of her original self. The look of realization on her face broke her hearts; all Lauren could do was regard her with apologetic eyes.

Meanwhile, Davros was far from finished.

There were still two more to choose for the arena.

He operated his chariot to where Dwonch sat with Greg and Wirt.

She figured ahead of time that the creep would be heading her way; and if he attempted to do the same to Wirt and Greg that he did with Clarence, hell was coming at him from a decorated war veteran.

"You," he spoke to _her_ , thankfully.

Dwonch gave a soft sigh. She whispered to Greg, "Stay with your brother, sweetheart." Giving him a kiss on the forehead, she stood up and faced her executioner. "So we talking, Hawking?"

"Your dexterity and definition are manifest signs of combat experience," Davros observed of her.

"I haven't got all day, you prick," Dwonch barked. "Are you gonna pick me for your little thunderdome or are you gonna keep kissin' my butt? You're at the right height for that second option."

Her feistiness only entertained Davros; it was an expected habit for a human.

One left for the choosing.

His chariot whirred across the room, its destination targeted for Sloth, who had kept with his mother and brothers.

"And the grotesquely malformed human…"

"NO!" Gen cried.

"Back off, freak!" Agatha screeched. "You're not taking my boy!"

"Ma!" Sloth demandingly moaned, moving his mother aside. He pounded a fist to his chest and said, "Big boy now! Go and fight!"

"Sloth, don't go," Chunk appealed, growing to respect the one member of the Fratelli family capable of kindness. "You'll die."

Sloth's gapped smile flashed to the boy who recently became his only friend.

"Chunk stay safe."

It was all he could tell him before Davros' Dalek enforcers escorted him, Dwonch, Lauren, and the few regenerations of the Gladiator out of the cell.

"Hey," Brand called to Davros. "What about the rest of us?"

"Yeah, what happens to _us_?" Mordecai asked.

"I assure you all will be well cared for, after the deaths of your saviors."

The remaining captives were left with this ominous reassurance as the Dalek creator departed from the cell, the door shutting behind him.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen: The Arena**

Nina concentrated better when her music played – and Huey Lewis and the News's "Perfect World" was just the tune to progress recalibrations between Steven's Type-X T.A.R.D.I.S. and the Type-Z models outside. Four connector cables ran in-between them, each one linked to the Type-X's control console.

Sitting lotus style on the grated flooring, Nina did her part in ensuring the T.A.R.D.I. (or "T.A.R.D.I.," as Cara preferred the term) were properly in sync for Steven's plan.

Then there came another jingle, one commonly associated with the ringtone of a cell phone, sounding from the control console.

Nina knew it to have been the connotation of a transmitted message.

She shot to her feet and brought it up on the scanner.

Her hazel eyes enlarged with dread, rusting out of the Type-X posthaste.

"Min," she called, emerging out of the module and into the warehouse portion of the outpost. She found her older incarnation between two of the Type-Z's. "I just found out where they're taking the other versions of Neas."

Min stared on her with sanguine eyes. "That's good. Where are they?"

"Well…it's a little vague…but Min's text mentioned something about an arena where they're going to fight to their deaths."

Min went pale. "Oh, no."

"The games."

The gruff Australian voice of Max Rockatansky, her companion in the years she had spent in the Mad World, spoke just near them. He had been tending to his modified V8 Interceptor, since returning from his retrieval of Shel, when he overheard their conversation.

"Immortan Joe," he said. "He's restarting his arena games."

"That's where they'll be taking them," Min indicated. "Joe and his boys are in league with Davros and the Daleks."

Nina bafflingly flinched. "Since when?!"

"Since the 'Chrome Gods' bestowed their grace upon his people," Min scathingly remarked. "Let's get the War Rig ready. We're movin' out."

"Don't go in alone," Max advised her. "It's not smart."

"We're not going in alone."

The confident smirk on her face, as well as her gist, resonated to Nina.

"Oh, that's good," she eagerly snickered. "That's _real_ good!"

* * *

In one blink of a second, the regenerations of the Gladiator, with their three companions chosen by Davros, were teleported from the Dalek flagship and to the Citadel – the stronghold of Immortan Joe.

It was clear at the point of their arrival how much the flagship was more welcoming than the dark, partially flooded cavernous area they materialized in. Another holding cell, this one fitted with a vault door to seal all of them inside. The only source of light came from a hole at the center, which currently permitted the light of the moon.

"Well, this _sucks_ ," grumbled Kimbyr, who was up to her thighs in water.

"Tell us about it."

Kimbyr smiled, recognizing the smoky yet attractive voice that addressed them, further inside the cavern.

Within the shadows, they spotted a statuesque, hooded figure.

It stepped out under the moonlight and removed its hood.

Long, flowing locks of dark brown hair unfurled; its owner – an African American woman with light mocha skin and dark puppy dog eyes – looked on the new arrivals, beaming.

"Man, I forgot how tall we were," Kimbyr scrutinized her.

"Do we know each other?" She asked, frowning.

"Not for another life, _Alicia_."

Picking up on Kimbyr's context clues, Neas nodded affirmatively. "Another of our regenerations," he surmised.

"Is that what this one is?" Alicia motioned to Kimbyr. "I mean, I recognize all the rest of you…but she's a bit of an enigma to me right now."

"What do you mean 'this one'?" Kimbyr sensitively complained. "Is that anyway to treat the woman who's been keeping watch over your young companion?"

Alicia looked on her with new resolve. "You've found Autumn?! Oh, my god! Is she alright?! We got separated in the rift, the second Davros and his Daleks found us! Oh, god! Please tell me she's okay!"

"She's fine," Mandy assured her. "They've got her back on their flagship with the rest of our friends."

"If she's on their ship, then she's _not_ fine."

Out from the same shadows where Alicia emerged spoke yet another voice – this one branded with a thick Scottish twang. Just as Alicia before him, the Scotsman showed himself in the light of the moon.

He was a tall, thin-faced man with a tousled mop of silver-grey hair and intense eyes framed by unruly, expressive eyebrows. His nose was hooked, his ears were big, and his eyes were sharp and silvery. His slender frame was buried beneath layers of clothing, from a bluish gray hooded top worn under a Crombie coat to black trousers.

"Don't tell me _he's_ another regeneration of us!" Neas quipped.

"Actually, I don't know _who_ he is," Alicia spoke of the Scotsman. "He wouldn't tell me his name when I introduced myself to him."

"Who I am should be no concern of anyone's under these circumstances," the Scotsman firmly established. "Isn't that right, _Candace_?"

Candace stiffened at the utterance of her name by a man she hardly knew.

"Uh…y-yeah…I suppose," she puzzlingly stammered.

She endeavored to question his awareness of her identity until she heard clicks resounding inside the cavern. At first, she believed it to simply be in association to the cavern itself, but the clicks were too articulated.

"Anybody else hear that?" She questioned.

"Hear what?" Neas queried.

"That clicking."

"Oh, that's just our friend over there," Alicia said, pointing to a specific spot in the eclipsed section of the cavern.

Squinting through the darkness, they could make out what appeared to have been a sick, malnourished extraterrestrial being that closely resembled a Parktown prawn. It sat leaning against the cavern wall, visibly weak.

"He's a prawn!" Kimbyr excitedly categorized.

"And a big one at that," Neas noted.

Kimbyr proceeded to click her tongue, communicating with the prawn.

"You speak his language?!" An amused Lindsay distinguished.

"Bits and pieces," Kimbyr said. "I happened upon his people in one dimension. A messed-up place in South African called 'District 9' – a concentration camp for prawns who only needed food and shelter."

The tone she reminisced in was notably sour to Neas. Clearly, this "District 9" was someplace he was not looking forward to witnessing, once he reached her regeneration.

"I've noticed the sequence of clicks he's been speaking in," the Scotsman said. "It's been the same for the last few hours."

"His name's Jeremiah Williams and…he's scared," Kimbyr desolately interpreted. "He misses his wife and son back in the district…and he's not even certain he'll see them again."

"Poor guy," Neas uttered. "How did he get here?"

Kimbyr conveyed the inquiry to the prawn, who clicked a response.

"He says he was brought to this world through a space-time rift that opened in the district," she translated.

Candace looked to the Scotsman. "Is that how _you_ got here?"

"I just took a wrong turn at Albuquerque," he shrugged.

"And now they got us all here for their stupid death arena," Dwonch petulantly said. "Why don't they just get this over with already?! What's the delay?!"

The lock on the vault door unbolted, drawing everyone's attention to it.

In stepped a few skeletally developed men, their torsos, arms, and heads covered in white powder. Alongside them were two Daleks.

Coarse breathing followed them in, along with the man behind it – one of old age and a stocky build. His hair was long and white, and his eyes were piercing blue. He was in poor shape. Large boils pestered his back, and he suffered from respiratory issues. Only a mask decorated with horse teeth to resemble a skeletal jaw aided him, as it stayed connected to a large breathing apparatus on his shoulders.

But nothing was more off-putting than the bulletproof, medaled Plexiglas armor he adorned, molded to give him a muscular appearance.

Much like the men who ushered him, he was coated in white powder.

"Who or _what_ in heaven's name are you?!" Candace reacted in repulsion.

"I am many things," the pallid man said, his Australian-accented voice augmented by his mask, "but you will address me as 'Immortan Joe.'"

Mars snorted. "Immortan Joe? Seriously?"

 _SLAP!_

Her head swiveled from the might of the backhand delivered by one of Joe's powdered entourage. It stung the right corner of her lip, yet the pain was temporary; her anger, on the other hand, was lasting towards the man responsible.

"You will not speak to Immortan Joe in such manner, _filth_ ," he snarled.

"Her tenacity is admired," Joe commended. "It is that very spirit why I bargained with Davros to have you ten women kept alive. You each would make superb wives…and breeders. Two of you may be quite old for the latter position, but you all are quite healthy and pure."

Kimbyr gagged. "I just threw up a little in my mouth – more on thinkin' about intercourse with you than bein' livestock!"

Joe's breathing juxtaposed with his rage. "And it is _that_ refusal that has brought you to my arena! You all will battle against my greatest challengers: my sons, Rictus Erectus and Scabrous Scrotus! And should you implausibly survive _their_ wrath, you shall face the fiercest warrior gifted to me by our Chrome Gods!"

"This partnership with your so-called 'Chrome Gods' won't last for very long," the Scotsman forewarned Joe. "They're nothing more than exterminators that see all other life as inferior. You think _yours_ is any different to them?!"

Candace listened intently to the Scotsman's warning; his words had an air of familiarity to them, as if he knew the Daleks on a personal level.

Nevertheless, Joe did not heed them.

"You know _nothing_ , old man! You and your compatriots will rest here this night… for at dawn, you fight to the death!"

* * *

Keeping to his schedule, Immortan Joe had his War Boys remove the prisoners from the cavern and escort them to his arena – a deep crater, close outside the parameters of his citadel, with a guarded, inclined dirt road that ran into it. Joe and his two flanking Daleks sat inside a makeshift spectator's box, suspended by thick, durable chains near the edge of one corner.

Multiple weapons were strewn across the arena floor in isolated caches: chainsaws, shotguns, vehicles, etc.

Joe and his savage followers paid no expense to get a good show.

"Anybody got a plan for how we're getting out of this alive?" Alicia asked.

"Yeah…we fight," Sanders replied.

Alicia scoffed. "I asked for a plan, not a death wish."

"For now, that's the best plan we've got," Candace supported. "If I trust any of you are _still_ the Gladiator that we were back in the Time War, then I know we'll get through this, just like we did then."

"Just try to look out for yourself more than us," Neas advised her. "Any of these guys get you first, then it's just gonna be Pop, Dwonch, Sloth, Jeremiah, and the Scot left standing."

"And I don't think we'd stand as great of a chance with just the five of us," Lauren stated before she side-turned to the prawn, the U.N.I.T. general, the disfigured Fratelli, and the Scotsman. "No offense."

"Eh!" Sloth grunted.

"None taken," Dwonch sneered.

Jeremiah clicked what Lauren could only interpret as a reasonable sentiment.

The Scotsman, however, remained mute.

The game began once Immortan Joe's sons, Rictus and Scabrous, arrived down the inclined road on cruelly overhauled automobiles. They were accompanied by bands of Joe's War Boys – more challengers for the Gladiators and their fellow participants to face.

Rictus and Scabrous were men of hulking figures.

Rictus, Joe's youngest son, was a shaven beast standing at seven feet tall. Like his father, he breathed clean air through tubing worn on his nose and connected to an apparatus on his back. On random areas of his armor were baby doll heads of varying sizes.

His brother, Scabrous, dwarfed him by only an inch. He was also fitted with a breathing apparatus, which he decorated with human skulls skewered on the exhaust ports of what was once an engine air filter. He wielded a long staff with an even longer chainsaw at the end.

Knowing Scabrous to be their most tangibly challenging opponent, Neas set his sights on him firsthand. He took off his black hoodie, baring his untucked purple shirt, and tossed it at Scabrous's head to blind him. He proceeded to strip off his loosened blue-and-grey striped necktie, wrapping it around the blinded Scabrous's neck and tightening it to choke the hulking man.

The others followed his lead, engaging with Rictus and the War Boys.

All the spectators viciously hailed as the brutal conflict raged on.

Margie and Lindsay, having recent experiences in combat through the Mortal Kombat tournament, exhibited superb martial art proficiencies in taking down several of the War Boys.

Candace, Sanders, Neas, and Sloth – being the tallest and strongest altogether – centered their tactic of brute strength against the biggest War Boys like Erectus and Scrotus. Sloth tossed a few around like rag dolls, whereas Candace, Sanders, and Neas tussled in the dirt and exchanged fisticuffs with the others.

Alicia and Lauren motivated on agility and other forms of martial arts, similar to Margie and Lindsay. Lauren received one blow across the face that left a bloodied cut to the side of her head, but she did not let it slow her down.

Mandy and Dwonch demonstrated flawless firing accuracy with the available rifles, some of which were alien in design, gunning down as many powdered freaks that dared to come near them.

"Five rounds rapid, suckas!" Dwonch vigorously chanted over the gunfire.

As much as Dwonch seemed to be enjoying the fight, Mandy saw how progressively stacked the odds against them were. She struggled with the idea of using the mask still pocketed in her trench coat. It was meant as a last resort, in case this deadly clash went south…and matters were becoming precariously close to that aspect.

Meanwhile, Ms. Mars put to use sword-fighting skills she learned from Willy with a Sontaran plasma blade – a lightsaber-like weapon that was effective against Scabrous's chainsaw staff and other War Boys that threatened her with similar hardware.

Gen kept herself hidden behind one cache of weapons on the arena floor.

She shirked from fighting, too horrified by the ghostly, skeleton-like men that wanted her and her friends dead.

Only when she witnessed Sloth overpowered by a group of War Boys did something snap in her; that gladiatorial instinct expressed there and then from her preceding and future incarnations.

In the cache, she found a bō staff – her weapon of choice.

She took up arms with it, rushing to Sloth's aid and expertly twirling the staff to flick away the War Boys swarmed around him. Noses, teeth, and skulls were cracked, shattered, and broken in the process.

"Thank you, Gen," Sloth acknowledged.

Gen nodded and smiled, joining at his side to take care of the remaining foes.

Kimbyr, Jeremiah, and the Scotsman had yet to decide their place in the skirmish, merely observing while dodging any flying bodies or bullets that whizzed past them. To the Scotsman's surprise, Kimbyr acquired the notion of filming the entire engagement on her camera phone.

"Seriously?!" He rebuked her.

"What?" Kimbyr naïvely remarked.

Jeremiah broached his own displeasure of her actions, right before he was snatched away by a few War Boys.

"HEY!" Kimbyr yelled, catching them in the act. "Bring him back here!"

She and the Scotsman attempted to pursue, but they were soon cornered by two more War Boys that barred their way with chainsaws.

They were helplessly imposed into watching the wild, powdered individuals chain Jeremiah's arms and legs to the back and front ends of two vehicles. Jeremiah pleadingly clicked for his life, yet it was only noise to his tormentors.

The prawn's body was ripped in half, blood and organs spraying.

"NO!"

In her rage, Kimbyr tossed her phone, striking at the head of the barring War Boy to her right. Recoiling from the blow, he blindly slashed his chainsaw at the torso of his comrade, which caused him to double over.

It was just the chain reaction of events needed for Kimbyr and the Scotsman to move by the two men and take vengeance on those responsible for Jeremiah's demise. Together, they succeeded in confiscating one of the two vehicles, with the Scotsman serving as passenger and Kimbyr as driver. Still fueled by fury, she barreled over multiple War Boys, turning the battle in the favor of her fellow regenerations and their allies.

Dwonch fired on the other vehicle that still dragged Jeremiah's severed lower half on its bumper, turning it into a conflagration on wheels and eradicating the passengers inside, once a bullet struck the gas tank.

The displeased Joe bore witness to the mediocre will of his men that resulted in an unwelcoming deduction of them. Most were either gravely injured or dead.

 _These are true worthy adversaries_ , he subconsciously fathomed.

His consideration towards the spectacle sharpened, sighting two of the Gladiators – the aging blonde and the young black man – at the mercy of his two sons.

Bloodied and bruised, Candace and Neas laid side-to-side as Rictus and Scabrous advanced on them, one cocking a shotgun and the other starting up the chainsaw on his staff. Having sustained many injuries, the two Time Lords were too depleted to retaliate.

"Did you imagine _this_ to be how your day would end?" Candace flippantly questioned to her future incarnation.

Neas grinned. "Nope. Way worse."

Just as Rictus and Scabrous neared them…

 _POW!_

The two hulking men were run down by Kimbyr, their bodies thrown over the vehicle and landing to the ground with sickening thuds on the other side.

Believing his sons to have died from the devastating attack, Joe stood from his perch and growled loud enough into a microphone for every spectator around the arena to hear.

All was silent. The fight had ceased, with only the Gladiators and their associates left standing among litters of bodies.

"We played your game and survived!" Candace shouted to Joe. "What else have you got?!"

Joe made no riposte. Instead, he pointed to one area of the arena.

They all looked, seeing no one and nothing there…

…until a gargantuan humanoid being materialized.

Taller and brawnier than Rictus and Scabrous combined, it was not of the present dimension.

It had reptilian skin and dreadlock-like appendages protruding from a head partially obscured by an elaborate, utilitarian metal mask. On its wrists were razor-sharp blades extended to a foot long.

There was no question that this rancorous lifeform was Joe's fiercest warrior – the one gifted to him by Davros and the Daleks.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen: Gladiators versus Predator**

"What is it today with us attracting weirdoes in even weirder masks?" Candace enquired, staring down the towering, otherworldly, and dreadlocked figure that dropped whatever cloaking technology it used to make it invisible.

"I dunno," said Dwonch. "But I ain't waitin' for Jason Voorhees to show up next!"

She took aim with her rifle at the humanoid, opening fire.

A bullet struck its left arm, and it emitted a ferocious howl of agony.

Dwonch's violent exploit drew its attention to them.

On its broad shoulder was some type of cannon that automatically targeted the Gladiators and their allies.

Suddenly, a bolt of high-energy plasma was fired.

It exploded into the dirt, right in front of the group; its powerful shockwave throwing them back in all directions.

Speedily recovering from the near-fatal blow, Ms. Mars leapt back to her feet and charged at the predatory behemoth, her Sontaran plasma blade held high. She swung the violet-pink blade at its torso, which it protected with the foot-long wrist blades crossed to block Mars's attack.

To her instant disbelief, the creature managed to shatter her blade with those of its wrists. It then retracted one of them to fiercely clasp at her silver hair. She cried out in pain, sensing a few strands ripped by the follicles. But the anguish would end _very_ soon, as her opponent lifted its other extended wrist blade, arranging to decapitate her.

The unrestrained revving of a car engine canceled Mars's execution.

The dreadlocked humanoid turned its head to see Kimbyr speeding in its general direction, with a worrisome Scottish passenger holding on for dear life.

She intended on finishing it the same way she had Rictus and Scabrous.

Regrettably, it was a one-time trick.

The creature fired its shoulder cannon to the vehicle's undercarriage, blowing it off its wheels. It spun in midair, crashing back down on its upside.

Mars felt the monstrosity release her hair, centering its attention on the overturned vehicle. As thankful as she was to be free, she was still in danger – at least in perspective of her future regeneration.

Weakened and bloodied to one side of her face, Kimbyr crawled out of wreckage.

She was robbed of any time to recuperate, with the humanoid snatching her by the throat and lifting her two feet off the ground. Her feet dangled as her face was brought unnervingly close to her masked adversary.

"Kimbyr," yelled the Scotsman, who effortlessly removed himself out of the overturned car.

The others took notice of her precarious situation as well but were too cautious to make a move, in fear of retaliation from the predatory behemoth. All it appeared to have done was leer at Kimbyr's face and body.

"What's it doing to her?" Lauren asked.

Neas gullibly shook his head. "Scanning her, maybe?"

Unbeknownst to him, it was just what the creature was doing.

Through thermal vision presented within its bio-mask, it diagnostically x-rayed Kimbyr's physiology, right down to her internal organs.

It found two beating hearts in her chest cavity.

"Re…mem…ber," it snarled in a distinct human language.

Kimbyr could barely get breath in her lungs; and, with any she could, the foul stench of this humanoid was more insufferable.

Things only got worse as the creature, with one free hand, progressed in removing its bio-mask. Kimbyr instantly realized how much better it appeared with it on, staring into a grotesque alien mug with arthropod-like mandibles, an elongated forehead, striking yellow eyes, and no visible nose.

From what little breath she could muster, she huffed, "You're one ugly mother—"

Before she could finish, its mandibles spread open, unleashing an inhuman shrill right in her face. A few bits of saliva escaped as well, landing on her left cheek, nose, and forehead.

In another unexpected move, the grotesque alien released its grasp on her throat.

Kimbyr fell back to her feet, watching along with everyone else as the creature fixed on the suspended spectator's box where a baffled Immortan Joe looked down on his prized champion.

"What are you doing?!" He questioned it. "Finish them!"

Out of the creature's right hand retracted a spear that it expeditiously hurled towards the spectator's box.

An overwhelmingly rattled Joe observed the soaring spear, believing it to be meant for him. He was somewhat relieved when he saw it impale the Dalek standing to its left, destroying it entirely. The other met a sudden end as well, blown into a cinder, courtesy of the dreadlocked behemoth's shoulder cannon.

Joe picked up on its attack pattern and, if his military instincts were still correct, he was the next intended target.

Fortunately for him, a fully recovered Erectus did not allow that to happen.

Using his brother's chainsaw spear, he sliced through the alien's torso, spilling its luminescent green blood everywhere.

It collapsed to the ground while Erectus stood victoriously over, looking to the spectator's box.

"Have I made you proud, Dad?"

Joe marginally nodded – a gesture that fueled his son's desire to honor him.

He returned to where he left with the Gladiators and their coconspirators, gearing the chainsaw spear – laced with the alien blood of its previous victim – for another grueling massacre.

Just as he neared them, something that he initially assumed to be the wind breezed past him and clocked him hard across the face. It nonetheless spooked him, turning in circles to see where it came from. And then, again, it blew right by – this time knocking Erectus off his feet completely.

The Gladiators and their companions perceived it as a blur that attacked Erectus, but it was in fact a speedster dressed in red.

"Flash," the Gladiators (minus Candace and Mars) ecstatically recognized their scarlet rescuer.

 _BAM!_

They heard something loud and heavy ram through the guarded entrance of the arena, discovering a Tatra T815 roaring down the inclined road. It was driven by a young black man, with two dark-haired Caucasian women (one of whom Kimbyr knew to be Min) and a rugged-looking man clinging at both ends of the cab.

Armed with long black rifles that sparked with neon blue energy, they fired on any of Joe's supporters that assailed their rig. The energy discharged from the guns was black hole-based, imploding their targets into nothingness when struck.

Lauren was unsettled to see such weapons used, as they only existed during the Time War – and she would know, since she designed them in her original incarnation.

"What is this?!" Joe wrathfully bellowed.

The chains suspending his spectator box snapped, beset by concentrated heat produced out from the eyes of a strange, red-caped woman that hovered miles above the pit. He tumbled out of the swaying box and towards the arena floor several feet down, only to have been caught by the same flying woman responsible for his plight.

She roughly dumped right beside his unconscious son and joined with Flash in approaching the Gladiators and their fellow captives.

"Good to see you again, Kara," Neas welcomed her.

The red-caped woman frowned. "You know me?"

"Yeah, they know _me_ , too," a quizzical Flash said. "How is that?"

"Let's worry about it later and get our butts on _that_ thing," suggested Kimbyr, indicating the Tatra T815 as it rolled to a stop next to them.

They all climbed on board, whereas Kara took to the skies in a loud _boom_.

Joe strained himself up, vulnerably watching his prisoners escape the arena with their liberators.

He was on the cusp of giving the order of pursuing them to his remaining men before he heard what sounded to be laughing out of the bleeding corpse of his once- treasured alien warrior.

"What is so amusing, you hindrance?!" He yapped to the slain creature.

That was when he heard what he discerned to be ticking resonating from the body.

Meticulously inspecting it, his eyes broadened in terror at the self-destruct device built in the creature's wrist gauntlet.

The countdown was too short to avert detonation.

As it happened, Joe felt every molecule of his body disintegrate.

In a millisecond, both his arena and stronghold were wiped out in an unearthly blast radius. The mushroom cloud that rose out of it could be seen a distance away from the escaping crew on the Tantra T815.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen: Something Borrowed, Something Blue**

The _Slayer's_ bridge was the only grandiose region of the Dalek flagship that did not seem deliberately threatening in design. A panoramic view of the cosmos contributed a flow of serenity – at least until it dawned on the spectator that he or she was surrounded by a fleet of Dalek battleships.

LeMarier felt that way every time she walked in.

Davros summoned her; undoubtedly, he caught wind of her conversation with Neas. _Can never trust a Dalek to keep a secret_ , she cerebrally griped.

Only a few Daleks roamed the bridge, working at the controls as ship operators.

A couple others stood guard at the entrance.

And then there was Dalek Vec, maintaining his place at Davros' side.

"What do you want _now_ , Davros?" She imprudently asked, despite already having an idea of the answer.

"How much faith do you have in that savage creature you gifted to the Immortan?"

His query was something of a relief for her.

This was _not_ about her clandestine conversation.

"The Yautja are known for their skill in hunting," she said. "The one I ripped from his home planet is more than capable of eradicating the Gladiators and their friends. Joe was _handsomely_ rewarded when I left that thing on his doorstep."

Not another word was uttered between them after she rejoined.

"Can I _go_ now?"

She was on her way out, without consent, before the two Daleks by the entrance barred her exit.

"What information did you distribute to the Gladiator's male regeneration?"

And there it was – the _real_ reason she was beckoned to the bridge.

"I'm leaving, Davros," she coldly told him. "Going completely off-planet…off-dimension, if I'm lucky."

"And what makes you believe I will let you?"

"Because I've given you what you wanted all along – all my dad's juiciest secrets about trans-dimensional technology."

"Not all. There's still much more we desire to know."

"Well, if that's all you're keeping me for, then you nabbed the wrong Time Lord," she scoffed. "My father's the one you should've kept alive."

"Then that only leaves _you_ out of the equation."

At that declaration, every Dalek on the bridge faced LeMarier, each of their gunsticks trained on her.

She fearfully gulped, crossing her hands to reach her vortex manipulator.

It was her only chance in escaping; however, the trick was pressing the teleport button before Davros could say "Fire."

"MASTER!" One Dalek operator, who was suddenly attentive to the ship's beeping controls, screeched. "WE HAVE RECEIVED TRANSMISSION FROM THE PLANETARY SURFACE! THE IMMORTAN, HIS FOLLOWERS, AND THE DALEKS WE HAVE DISPATCHED TO HIS BASE HAVE BEEN DESTROYED!"

"What?!" Davros rotated his chariot away from facing LeMarier and to the Dalek operator. "How…?" He then calculated the possibility in his mind, riotously growling as soon as it registered in him. "The Tinkerer…his other regenerations have successfully recruited the remaining Gladiators!"

A static discharge reverberated throughout the bridge.

Davros detected its bluish hue when it bounced off the floor and ceiling, in conjunction with the crinkling noise it made. His chariot turned and faced the spot where LeMarier once stood, now unoccupied between the two Dalek guards.

"Initiate _mass extermination_ ," he fumed, "over _all_ of our enemies!"

* * *

Philip refused to let his foot off the gas pedal as he sped the War Rig across the Wasteland. He wanted to put as much distance as he could between them and whatever was left of Immortan Joe's stronghold, which he figured was not much from the size of that explosion. They were pretty much home-free on the way back to the outpost, yet he remained cautious.

The engine was so monstrously loud that he hardly heard Min yelling for him to slow down.

That no longer was an issue once the engine finally blew out.

Smoke billowed through the crevices of the hood, indicating the extent of the damage. Neither the gas pedal nor the brake was responsive, leaving Philip with no other choice but to let the Rig stop for itself on the road.

"I told you to slow down," Min griped, as everyone climbed out of the Rig, herself included. "Why didn't you listen?!"

"I couldn't hear you," Philip ingenuously excused.

Min and Neas popped the hood.

They all scattered away from the giant, putrid vapor that puffed out.

Kimbyr hacked and coughed. "Yep. I'd say that thing's dead alright."

"No thanks to Philly Boy here," Min reprimanded. "How did we get so irresponsible in our old age?!"

"Hey, just chill for a sec," Nina told her. "No need to put all the blame on the little guy. We're each one in the same. _You_ would've made the same mistake."

Lauren curiously looked on the three characters.

She knew Min to be a future regeneration of hers, but – from her exchange with Nina and Philip – it amused her to discover those two to be her other successors as well.

"Which regeneration are you?" She directly questioned to Gipson.

"Twelfth," he verified.

"So you're our last one," Lauren construed. "You're very young."

Philip chuckled. "Not quite as much as you. I still remember _being_ you."

Lauren thoughtfully smiled. She then set her sights on Min, and her smile drooped. "And you," she disdainfully addressed, "how can you speak about _him_ being the irresponsible one? You were that much so when you abandoned our child!"

Min glared at her. "I take it you've watched the data orb. Well, let me enlighten you on something you won't even know for another few regenerations: _we have no other choice_!"

"There's _always_ a choice, even when we're left with nothing!" Lauren disputed.

Seeing the two Tinkerers aimlessly go back and forth with each other, Candace groaned; no matter the regeneration, her father was always the same. She looked away from the verbal conflict that Neas endeavored to settle between them and out towards the endless desert surrounding them. There was no telling how long they would be stuck out there in the boiling temperature.

She sighted the "Supergirl" by the name of Kara soaring like a jet across the clear blue sky, only to make a sudden descent to their location. Clearly, she saw the smoking War Rig stalled in the middle of the road and thought to provide assistance.

But, as Candace would soon find out, that was not her purpose.

She hit the ground with an expression of panic.

"We've got trouble," she alerted.

"Oh, really?" Mars mocked. "We never would've guessed."

"Some weird ships are headed our way," Kara continued.

"What do they look like?" Barry asked her.

Kara fought to find the right description. "I dunno. They were Daleks. Only…bigger…and crazier…and _flying_."

The last term clued Candace and her regenerations in. "Dalek fighter pods."

"They still exist?" Alicia queried. "I hadn't seen one since the Time War."

"How many are there?" Margie quizzed Kara.

The Kryptonian shrugged. "At least a dozen."

"Oh, god," a perturbed Min murmured. "Alright. Kara, you do your best in holding them off, while we do what we can in getting the Rig's engine back up and running."

"That won't be necessary."

All eyes were on the Scotsman, who stood some distance away from the group, right near a looming ridge.

"Follow me," he directed, prior to disappearing behind the ridge.

Neas doubtingly shook his head. "Has anyone _yet_ figured out who this guy is?"

"Right 'bout now, I could care less, as long as he has something to hold against those fighters," Candace professed. "C'mon. Let's follow him."

They did as she insisted, abandoning the War Rig on the lone stretch of road.

Reaching the peak of the ridge where the Scotsman stood ago, the gathered heroes were met with the daunting eyesore of an expansive desert landscape – endless dunes competing with each other to find out which was the biggest and steepest.

But it was what rested in the middle of it that immediately drew their attention.

A blue police box.

"I don't believe it," whispered Candace, who shared in the shock with her succeeding regenerations and those of her father.

"He's been _here_ this entire time?!" Lindsay exclaimed.

"He who?" A baffled Kara inquired.

"That's the T.A.R.D.I.S.!" Barry elatedly ruminated on the blue box. "It exists! It _actually_ exists! Oh, man! Cisco would be having a field day if he were here right now!"

Neas espied the Scotsman sprinting straight to the box and opening its doors.

"That Scottish guy," he said. "He must be his companion."

He led the group to the police box, following after the Scotsman.

Breezing through the opened doors, they emerged into the expanded space inside – this T.A.R.D.I.S.'s console room.

A stark, mechanical teal-aqua room that was much bigger than the one Candace and her other selves previously remembered when they last traveled with the Doctor. It had a console with more input devices and instrumentation. It was decorated with all the comforts of home: a reclining chair, bookshelves, and chalkboards. The ambient orange glow of the time rotor added an additional sense of warmth to the otherwise provisional, sophisticated area.

"Where is he?" Lauren asked, her aquamarine eyes skimming all around. "I mean, should we be expecting a curly-haired man with a silly scarf?"

The Scotsman tenderly laughed.

They saw him revolve around the hexagonal control console.

The skillful way in which he worked it made Candace rethink all the clues she mentally amassed: how he knew her name, his temperamental outlook on the Daleks, and his knowledge of the Doctor's T.A.R.D.I.S.

There was only one feasible conclusion to it all.

"It's you," she respired to the Scotsman. "This whole time it's been you."

The Scotsman smirked back at her. " _Now_ you've got it."

Mars, Margie, Lindsay, Mandy, Gen, Neas, Sanders, Alicia, and Kimbyr – it sunk in with them purely a second after Candace.

Kimbyr blurted a four-letter expletive that scared the dickens out of Mars and Gen, who stood close next to her. Neas wanted to cry out in jubilation himself but refrained from it for the sake of vanity. Margie, Alicia, and Lindsay, on the other hand, were like three girls fawning over their favorite singer at a concert. Mandy and Sanders were thunderstruck.

Lauren, Min, Nina, and Philip were divided in conflicting reactions.

Dwonch was grinning ear-to-ear, standing and breathing the same air as the man she read about in U.N.I.T.'s archives.

"I'm sure you all have pressing questions – what regeneration I'm in, how long has it been since the Time War, et cetera, et cetera," the Scotsman – the _Doctor_ – said. "But we'll have to catch up later. Right now, we need to get this old girl airborne, before those fighters get here first."

"Airborne?!" Neas repeated in uncertainty. "Wouldn't it just be easier to materialize out of this spot?"

"The dematerialization function is on the fritz," the Doctor specified. "That's what happens when you _accidentally_ travel into a dimensional corridor instead of a time vortex, which _this_ T.A.R.D.I.S. was not designed to do. So, we have no other choice but to manually pilot."

"Which will be hard with those fighters on our butts," Lindsay said.

"O ye of little faith," the Doctor recited. "I have ten versions of my best pupil here with me, plus four of her dear ole dad. We can do this. Take your positions around the control console and follow my lead."

"Kara," Min attended to the Kryptonian. "You proceed on with the original plan and ward off as many of those fighters as you can while we take off."

"Got it," Kara obliged, moving out of the police box and ascending to the skies.

Shortly thereafter, the Doctor's T.A.R.D.I.S. did as well, thanks to the cooperative effort of its crew and their foreman.

The dozen Dalek fighter pods – each one piloted by four Daleks – soon tailed the airborne T.A.R.D.I.S. across the wasteland. Kara weaved in and out between them, using a combination of super strength and heat vision to pop off the few pods she could before they returned fire with armed laser turrets.

She retreated back to the Doctor's T.A.R.D.I.S., colliding with Barry on her way in. "Sorry, so sorry," she iterated, lying atop of the Scarlet Speedster.

"It's O.K.," Barry moaned. "Just…stop kneeing on my groin, will ya?"

She graciously did as he requested, both of them returning to their feet.

"I got as many as I could," Kara exhaustedly informed. "But there are still a bunch pursuing us. Doesn't this thing come equipped with any weapons?" She noticed the Doctor shooting her a cold stare that was accentuated by his bushy eyebrows. "I'll take that as a 'no'."

"What if we used the rift rifles?" Neas proposed.

"We depleted their energy back in the arena," Min said. "They still need at least an hour to recharge."

"Here," the Doctor reached under the control console, manifesting with a black-and-orange rifle of interplanetary design that he handed to Neas. "A gift from our late friend Jeremiah Williams – it's called a Mulcher."

Neas looked over the rifle whimsically. "You still keep weapons in your T.A.R.D.I.S., I see."

"I've tried not to, but this is one time when I'm thankful of an old habit," the Doctor admitted.

Neas positioned himself at the entranceway, steadying himself against the lurching environment while taking aim with the Mulcher. His right index finger yanked on the trigger and a strong protonic current was set off. It made a direct hit with one fighter pod, triggering a chain of events that began with the pod superheating and then exploding in a violent, swift manner. The repercussion of the explosion was penetrating enough to take out three other pods with it.

"Whoo-hoo! Only two left!" Neas boomed triumphantly.

"Don't get cocky, kid!" Dwonch teased.

The pursuit transitioned from above the desert to a canyon.

Darting across a chasm, Neas sought tactical inspiration from the rock formations they zigzagged around. He unleashed another stream of electricity from the Mulcher, striking one of the formations. An avalanche of boulders toppled over the lingering two fighter pods, demolishing them.

"That's it," Neas happily confirmed to the others. "We're in the clear!"

It was relieving news for the T.A.R.D.I.S. passengers.

Everyone, except for the Doctor, exchanged in a plethora of cheers, high-fives and applause.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we haven't won _yet_ ," the Doctor sourly stated, ending the brief minute of euphoria within his console room. "Davros has an entire invasion force waiting to rain down hell on us at any second. Of course, none of this would be happening, had it not been for _these_ four."

He crossly fingered to Lauren, Min, Nina, and Philip.

"Us?!" Nina blankly reacted. "What did _we_ do?!"

"Oh, you know _perfectly_ well what you did!" The Doctor admonished.

All the positivity enthused with the defeat of the Dalek fighter pods was eviscerated with this sudden outburst from the Doctor.

"Tell them," he demanded of the Tinkerer's incarnations. "Tell them the truth about Dalek Vec and how it was _your_ trans-dimensional technology that brought that monstrosity to life!"

The appalled eyes of Candace and her regenerations fixated on Lauren, Nina, Min, and Gipson. "What's he talkin' about, Pop?" She spoke to no specific version of her father but rather all four of them.

Min, Nina, and Philip shamefully kept their silence.

Lauren was the only honorable one to step forward and address the situation.

"I was the Daleks' P.O.W., back in the Time War," she sorrowfully confessed. "They took me off Earth, away from your mother and the farm, and forced me to comply with their demands of constructing a Dalek with the same interdimensional capabilities as the Type-Z." Tears rolling down her cheeks, she concluded, "And that's how Dalek Vec was born."

Her dark revelation left the Gladiators severely disturbed – none more so than Candace herself.

"You have no idea how hard I fought the notion of leaving you with them for the nightmare you brought to life," the Doctor seethed.

"They still have our wife on their flagship!" Min retorted.

"And how exactly does _that_ transmit as 'useful' information?!" The Doctor scorned.

"You self-righteous madman!" Min malevolently hissed. "You may have regenerated God-only-knows so many times with so many faces, but your black hearts will always be the same!"

"There's only one of you I can punch right now, and that's _him_ ," the Doctor gestured to Philip. "But I'd rather not, since he's got a nice-enough face. _Yours_ on the other hand…" He motioned back to Min. "…is tempting me!"

"ENOUGH!"

Their oral confrontation came to an abrupt conclusion at Neas's eruption of frustration, everyone's focus on him.

"Look, we've _all_ done horrible things in that war – things none of us can ever forget. I know I speak for my other selves when I say, 'Who gives a crap that Pop created Vec?' Yeah, it sucks that he did, but what he knows can be of use against him. And we're gonna need all the help we can get to survive this invasion force."

Lauren was once again humbled by his forgiving words.

It was the third instance in their time together that he found it in his hearts _to_ forgive her for past mistakes.

"I hear you, but now hear _me_ ," the Doctor hardheartedly told Neas. "For the sake of this universe and infinite others, I hope you are right in your judgment of your father…or else we will _suffer_ for it."


	21. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter Twenty: The Worst Plan Ever**

A contraption common for members of the Time Agency, the vortex manipulator was an extremely precise form of time travel or any other means of travel. In the blink of an eye, LeMarier transported off the _Slayer_ and down to the Earth it orbited, explicitly somewhere out in the wasteland desert.

The blistering heat was something of a welcome, having spent so many hours in the cold vacuum of space that beleaguered the Dalek flagship. In spite of this, she still anticipated leaving the dismally primitive planet and its dimension.

Making use of the vortex manipulator's properties, she dropped the cloaking shield of the Yautja scout ship she confiscated and parked in the desert midst.

Its three external thrusters faced her way.

The large blade at its underbelly and the exit ramp a few feet from it kept the situated vessel upright.

LeMarier was prepared to ascend up the ramp until…

"Take me with you."

A scratchy English voice begged to her from behind.

She turned, surprised to see a sweaty and dehydrated young man crumpled to his knees, his platinum blond hair sopping. He wore a type of school uniform that he shed articles of on his long, suicidal journey across the desert. All that was left was a spoiled, untucked white shirt, tattered gray slacks, and sand-filled shoes.

"Who are you?" She grilled the boy.

He tried to answer but only a dry wheeze escaped his chapped lips.

Ultimately, he lost consciousness and went face-first into the sand.

No telling how far or long he trekked the wasteland. To LeMarier, he was as good as dead already; leaving him lying there would be no blemish on whatever scrap of conscience she had.

And yet, the boy possessed a level of persistence deserved to be recompensed.

It could serve some use to her as a companion on her impending expedition.

* * *

The maximum capacity of the Tinkerer's Type-X T.A.R.D.I.S. console room was tested after the triumphant return of the other Gladiators and their friends – including the Doctor and _his_ T.A.R.D.I.S. He kept it materialized outside in the warehouse, near the spherical Type-X itself and the few Type-Z's wired to it.

All sixteen incarnations of the Gladiator were assembled, each of them getting to know one another – for the first time or all over again.

Even Lauren was granted a chance in meeting another future regeneration – "Alyssa" – and her original face in "Steven Curtsinger." Although her presence there was welcomed, there was a bit of mourning for her predecessor, "Skeeta Jenkins," who was originally chosen to join in their last stand.

"I promise that I'll do everything he would've done if he were here," she guaranteed.

"As far as I'm concerned, we're all one in the same," Steven humbly attested.

"But there's only _one_ you, as far as _I'm_ concerned," Candace reversed.

Steven looked to the aging blonde that he recognized to be a grown-up form of his infant daughter back home on Gallifrey. Min's accurate description of her helped, but Steven could see it right off just looking at her. There was much of Kristin in her face and hair; the body, on the other hand, was clearly augmented from Time Lord science.

"Hey, Pop," she said, smiling.

He embraced her straightaway.

She was rigid to the touch, with all those tight, rippling muscles of hers; particularly, when she returned his embrace, it was like being caught in a vice. Nonetheless, he enjoyed this rare opportunity.

"You, of course, know that neither of you will remember this hug with the timelines out of sync."

The Doctor.

Steven was warned in advance that his thirteenth incarnation would be coming to his T.A.R.D.I.S. Judging from the abruptness of _this_ regeneration, he would have preferred the one that was all teeth and curls.

"This is a special moment, regardless," he told him.

"You sure have changed a lot, Doctor," Candace indicated.

"Really? Wonder what gave it away," his snarky response was.

Candace giggled. "That attitude's still the same as the last one, but here it's an improvement. You aren't quite so grumpy."

"That's 'cause I found Gallifrey."

She was stricken over this news, nearly stumbling back on her wobbling legs.

The Doctor was quick to say afterward, "Remember, you won't _remember_ me telling you this, once the timelines are back in sync."

Candace scoffed. "It'd be hard for me to forget something as astounding as _that_!"

"Believe me, it is," he gloomily negated.

His general lack of enthusiasm just made her even more curious.

"Well, can you tell me _how_ you came to find it?"

Reluctantly, he recounted the story of his discovery, starting all the way back to the _moment_ after he and Candace parted ways during the Time War.

Meanwhile, in his mingling with his other selves, Neas discovered one missing.

Kimbyr.

He only caught sight of her leaving the console room through one of the corridors while having an in-depth conversation with Rhyanna on how he still wore yoga shorts in memory of her (a sentiment that empathically touched her).

Politely excusing himself, he followed Kimbyr further into their father's T.A.R.D.I.S. He almost lost track of her, winding through multiple hallways – there were honestly _more_ in the Type-X than there were in the Type-Z!

It was the sound of her sobbing that guided him the rest of the way; it echoed across the halls, yet Neas pinpointed the precise source with his acute hearing.

Kimbyr was huddled against the wall in an area that noticeably bore a resemblance to a Zero Room. If it was just that, then she found the perfect place to let out her emotions. Neas never used the one back in his T.A.R.D.I.S. that often, even on days when his stress was at an all-time high. Rhyanna, however, spent a couple of centuries meditating in there, sometimes with the air-conditioning off to create the ultimate sense of stillness. Once in a while, she also would retreat there to weep.

He knew the conditions of this refuge to stem from most recent events.

She was unmistakably shaking, her legs hugged close to her chest.

As much as it pained him to see her signature cheerful disposition traumatized by her experience in the arena, he knew in his hearts that she needed this.

"Hope you didn't come all this way to say, 'I told you so'."

In his train of thought, he failed to realize that she spotted him standing there at the doorway.

Putting on a phony smile, he feigned in idiocy: "I don't know what you—"

"C'mon, dude," she derided. "I'm your future, not your past. I know what you've thought of me from the minute you met me."

Neas sighed.

The greatest curse of being a Time Lord was never being able to keep secrets, even from yourself.

"I did for a moment," he confessed. "But then I saw you sitting there, makeup all runny and stuff, and figured you didn't deserve it. We both already know what you're feeling anyway."

Kimbyr agreeably nodded with his reasoning.

"That _thing_ got me real scared, man," she said. "When it had me by the throat and held me that close to its ugly mug…" She swallowed hard, fighting back another rupture of tears. "I thought for sure that was it…that you all were going to watch me die right there…no more future for the Gladiator."

"But he _didn't_ kill you," Neas engrossedly reviewed. "They obviously recruited that thing to annihilate us all, but it didn't the second it went after you. And what it said when he had you by the throat – 'Remember' – what could that mean?"

"Yeah," Kimbyr inquisitively considered. "He said it like we've met before."

"Maybe you have, just not yet," Neas deduced. "It happens quite often, with us bouncing around time and space."

Kimbyr shook her head in doubt, cleaning her face.

"I dunno," she asserted. "All I know is that I'd prefer _not_ to run into that thing or anything like it again for as long as I live."

"Everything okay in here?"

The prying Candace startled her two young future successors, appearing in unannounced.

"Yeah, everything's fine," Neas fibbed.

He caught Kimbyr smiling at him, thankful for keeping her secret.

Frankly, it might as well have been a secret for _all_ their lives; any of them could one day reencounter the dreadlocked alien brute before the perpetual "reunion" in Immortan Joe's arena.

"So you're my replacements: Shaq and Angelina Jolie," Candace teased.

Kimbyr exasperatedly rolled her eyes. "First, it was Megan Fox, and now Angelina? _Really?!_ "

"And Shaq's like seven feet," an offended Neas cited. "I'm only six-foot-five!"

Candace laughed with esteemed amusement. "I'm sorry. I'm just getting used to this whole idea of regeneration and one day being you two." She centered on Neas and added, "You _especially_ , big man. You're a _triple_ bonus – young, black, and _male_."

Neas jokingly flaunted. "What can I say – we've got good taste."

The three Gladiators cackled hysterically; it was just the levity they needed under these stressful circumstances.

Once she was able to settle herself, Candace refocused on her purpose for coming: "Pop needs us back in the console room. He says that we've got a solid plan that'll stop Davros and his Dalek armada."

* * *

"That's the _worst_ plan ever!" The Doctor roared among the congregation of Gladiators, Tinkerers, and their small assembly of companions.

"Well, I think it's a _great_ plan," Nina encouragingly disagreed. "It's a bit of the old plan mixed with the new one."

"So…we're basically using the dimensional rift that Davros is going to open to bring his fleet of Daleks into this dimension by calling forth our own armada, consisted of our regenerations and their allies, through the infinite D.C.?" Neas evaluated.

"Affirmative," Steven acknowledged. "All it takes is a little manipulation in the rift's intensity."

The Doctor's arms flew up in vexation. "A little, he says!"

His unmistakable frustration did not go unnoticed by those in the room.

"It sounds too impossible," a skeptical Maureen expressed. "There couldn't be any more of us out there than what we've got cramped up in here, could there?"

Alyssa cleverly grinned. "Funny you should say that."

She faced the Type-X control console, fixating on a keyboard bordering on a Commodore 64 model that she inputted a three-key command. Above the console there projected three holographic feeds videoed in real time. Each one was of a different woman, ranging from as young as seventeen to as old as forty-three. Behind them were different T.A.R.D.I.S. console rooms of Type-Z design.

Three more regenerations of the Gladiator; none those in the Type-X knew.

Alyssa pointed to the seventeen-year-old, a fresh-faced Caucasian blonde with twinkling blue eyes. "Her name's Si, and she's your nineteenth regeneration."

Awe transformed Shel's face. "She looks younger than _me_!"

"And I'm also half a century older than you," Si glittered.

"This one's name is Geraldine, your seventeenth regeneration," Nina indicated the center feed, which was telegraphed from inside the console room of a pale, flawless woman in her thirties wearing a rounded black sunhat that her floppy dark hair peeked out of.

"Hello," she waved in a sweet-natured way.

Neas's ears interestedly twitched at her voice. "Is that a _German_ accent?"

"And, lastly, there's Rickert," Steven nodded to the forty-three-year-old Italian American woman on the far right feed, sporting a bob cut and tanned skin; her broad, defined shoulders detectable. "Your eighteenth regeneration."

"She looks hungry enough to take on fifteen million Daleks," Candace surveyed.

"Bet your booty I am," Rickert resiliently testified. "So when are we doing this? How long we got to be cooped up in the corridor?"

Mars's face lit up. "Wait. They're _all_ barreling through the corridor right now?!"

"Just the three of them?" Margie rose.

Steven shook his head. "No. They're just three of _thousands_ we've managed to contact through the beacon. Imagine how much more we can reach once after we've intensified it."

"You do realize in doing that you're dooming this whole planet more than Davros and his army will," the Doctor quarreled. "Oh, but that's just second nature for the almighty Tinkerer, isn't it? You'll doom a planet, no matter what dimension that it inhabits."

"No, Doctor, I won't," Steven calmly undermined. "Because a strike team will be sent into the Dalek flagship to save my wife and our other friends up there, get back the T.A.R.D.I. Davros is using to power his generator, and destroy Dalek Vec and that generator altogether. Our team will get the job done before the rift ever has a chance at imploding this reality."

The Doctor admiringly huffed. "Well, a strategy _that_ mad certainly requires a _madman_ to take charge of it, wouldn't you suppose?"

"That depends," said a simpering Min. "Are you volunteering for the job?"

"Never thought you'd ask," the Doctor snootily supported.

Steven brightened. "That just leaves ground forces to defend the outpost. You'll have to give us Tinkerers enough time to stabilize the rift with Lindy, Rhyanna, Isabel, and Cara's T.A.R.D.I. and let our own opposing armada through." He took a pause, reaping incentive in his next address, "As complex as this plan is, I've got one hundred percent faith in it succeeding with so many magnificent minds and bodies working together."

"Yeah, yeah," the Doctor bemoaned. "Stop with the butt-kissing and let's just get to work, shall we?"


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

**Chapter Twenty-One: Infinite Crisis**

The silence inside Neas's T.A.R.D.I.S. was too much for Gizmo after many passing hours. He thought to chirp the tune that Billy Peltzer once taught him, just to occupy the disconcerting peace, but he could only carry that tune for so long.

Something was wrong.

After Neas, Gen, and Lauren left the console room, they never returned.

He patiently waited until they did, yet it had not happened.

He braved himself to venture out and find his friends, operating the outsized T.A.R.D.I.S. controls by memory of all the times he watched his Time Lord owner do it.

What he found on the other side of the doors frightened the little Mogwai.

A dark, ominous room lit only by the machinery it condensed in its bulbous space.

Other Type-Z T.A.R.D.I.S. capsules stood apart from each other, assorted in a pattern that was like skyscrapers to Gizmo's miniscule size. Cable lines slithered in and out of them, all connected to a black spherical machine at the center of the room. The multiple lights that blinked on it in a rainbow of colors made him think of Christmas.

"CONNECT THE FINAL T.A.R.D.I.S. TO THE RIFT GENERATOR!"

"IT WILL BE DONE!"

Hearing the screeching, mechanistic voices, Gizmo hid out of sight behind the T.A.R.D.I.S. just as two bronze Daleks approached.

One went inside, lugging another cable that it linked from the spherical generator to the T.A.R.D.I.S. control console. The generator hummed venomously in satisfaction of the extra dose of energy it was fed.

"WE MUST INFORM DAVROS THE GENERATOR IS FULLY ACTIVE!"

"THE DALEK ARMADA WILL REIGN SUPREME OF THIS UNIVERSE AND INFINITE OTHERS!"

The Daleks made their departure through an oval-shaped sliding door.

Gizmo emerged from hiding and suddenly noticed nine other small, furry brown-and-white figures stepping out of the other Type-Z's.

More Mogwai.

He squeaked out an alarmed gasp, believing these other Mogwai to be duplicates like the incident back in Kingston Falls.

Thankfully, that was not the case.

These other Mogwai were actually versions of him from other points in Neas's personal timeline. A few of them were just as scared as he was, some were a little bit braver, and then there was one who stood toughest of them all.

Flashing a Rambo-like makeover, complete with a red sweatband and a bow made of a paperclip and rubber band, he asserted himself as leader of the troupe of Mogwai. Words of encouragement, formed in a stream of aggressive chirps, were all that it took to get his other selves to take action for their lifelong Time Lord caretaker.

* * *

Shirtless and smearing the last bit of war makeup on his face, Gumball doggedly grunted, "Time to go to work."

Darwin's face twisted. "Was that meant to sound tough?"

"Of course it was!" An irritated Gumball defended. "O.K. Let's try this one." Again, he grunted, "Time to serve a full course of pain."

"That one sounds forced," Darwin critiqued.

"Time to get this party started?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Time's a-wastin'?"

"Are you a cowboy now?"

"Time to make the doughnuts?"

"That one doesn't even apply to this situation."

While the two brothers were preoccupied with finding the right one-liner, everyone else in the Type-X console room readied for the oncoming battle in their distinctive ways.

In spite of their concerns on the whereabouts of Draco Malfoy, Harry, Hermione, and Ron primed their wands.

Close near them, Bastian suggested to Isabel, "Maybe we go back to Fantasia and get Atreyu and Falkor to help us."

"They will come through the rift just like the others, Bastian," Isabel said, following with an playful chuckle. "Besides, I think even Falkor would be a little too big to fit inside the T.A.R.D.I.S."

Outside in the warehouse, Max tuned up his V8 Interceptor.

Alongside him were Bugs and Daffy, the latter on his knees, begging.

"I'm tellin' ya, Bugs! I won't last long out there! _Please_ be my bunny shield!"

The rabbit's eyes rolled with disgust. "Bruddah! Can you _be_ any desperate?!"

"If I can, _then_ will you say 'yes'?" Daffy beseeched.

Neas and Dwonch crossed the pair's path.

The U.N.I.T. general observed the various ways in which the companions of the Gladiator prepped for battle, approving of some and disapproving of others.

"Half these helpers of yours are just kids," she told Neas. "How'll they be able to hold off that armada 'til the _real_ cavalry arrives? Not to sound like a Debby Downer here, but we're hopelessly outnumbered."

"Pop's plan will work," Neas reassured. "All we've gotta do is wait for the moment when Davros opens the rift, then he and the rest of him can—"

The grinding, humming engines of a T.A.R.D.I.S. interrupted him.

He turned to see a Type-Z materialize near the few standing in the warehouse.

Its doors opened to sanction the exodus of Si, his teenage, blond future regeneration. In person, he saw how fashionable she was in blue jeans, brown boots, and a dark grey shirt. In exiting from her T.A.R.D.I.S., she removed a black cowboy hat that matted her hair.

Si was strikingly tall for a girl her age, matching in height with Dwonch but only managing to reach Neas's shoulder.

"Jeez, I've got a niece who's no younger than her," Dwonch muttered.

Shushing Dwonch, Neas questioned to his imminent incarnation, "What're you doing here? I thought you were gonna wait for the signal back in the corridor?"

"All that talk about sending a strike team into the Dalek flagship, and none of us thought _how_ the team's gonna get up in that thing? What would any of you do without lil' ole me here?"

She made a valid point.

 _The oldest_ _and_ _the youngest of us and she's as sharp as a tack_ , Neas spiritually commended.

 _KURRACK!_

By its register, it could have been thunder, if there were any clouds in the sky.

It drew everyone – both inside the warehouse and in the Type-X – out to see the cause of the thunderous boom. They studied what appeared to be a lightning bolt frozen in the sky, stretched out ten miles wide.

"What _is_ that?" Barry inquired.

He got his answer just as the frozen bolt split apart, tearing open a section of the dusk sky to expose a swirling blue vortex beyond it – the Infinite D.C.

"It's Davros' rift!" The Doctor alarmingly cried. "He's early!"

"Tinkerers, to your stations!" Steven commanded.

"Gladiators, immobilize in Si's T.A.R.D.I.S.!" Candace ordered.

"The rest of you, either take shelter in the Tinkerer's T.A.R.D.I.S. or take up arms and follow me outside!" Dwonch directed.

Each group did as instructed: the Tinkerers retreated back into their Type-X, along with Bastian; the Gladiators and the Doctor rushed aboard Si's Type-Z, which dematerialized later; and Dwonch led out those that were brave and bold enough to defend the outpost, a few armed with rift rifles and Mulchers mass-produced by a couple of friends of Lindy's that she only referred as "Fix-Its."

Making use of her tactical training in U.N.I.T., Dwonch held the small platoon in formation to establish a perimeter around the warehouse. There were not enough bodies to completely cover the territory, so she had to make due.

The battle began as soon as Dalek ground forces manifested.

Gumball was the first to open fire with his Mulcher.

"Time to get some," he shouted.

"That's the one!" Darwin approved, as he and the others joined Gumball, bulldozing through the accumulation of Dalek invaders.

Barry super sped across them, removing as many out of the equation as the rifles and Mulchers did.

With the onset of Dalek fighter pods, Kara went aerial and bolted into them, using super combinations of flight, speed, strength, and heat vision. In her demolition, she spotted an increasingly hostile Sloth ripping open his shirt to reveal another he wore underneath, bearing the House of El crest.

"Now _that's_ more like it," she favored, nearly letting herself get distracted by the amusing spectacle.

The corners of Dwonch's mouth turned up, seeing how they had this so-called armada on the ropes. _We can actually win this_ , she confidently fathomed.

Her smile faded when her eyes looked skyward.

The rift violently pulsated and expanded, permitting the fleet of Dalek saucers to pour out and scatter across the sky, releasing thousands more Daleks. Lastly, the Dalek flagship – the _Slayer_ – transpired, positioning directly above the outpost.

"Oh, man," Gumball sniveled. "We're totally about to get our butts whipped!"

Dwonch gulped. "We could _really_ use that backup right 'bout now."

Again, the rift pulsated, more powerfully than before.

Its length and width swelled tenfold.

Dwonch's stomach turned, believing _another_ fleet to arrive.

Fortunately, it was the opposite.

Out of the rift surged an infinite number of black rectangular solids – Type-Z model T.A.R.D.I. – each and every one piloted by different incarnations of its longtime owner.

Supplementing them was a multitude of allies…

A _league_ of heroes that fought for _justice_.

Another Flash that Barry knew as "Jay Garrick."

A ten-year-old boy with a special wrist device that transformed him into a variety of alien creatures.

Three super-powered girls with oval-shaped heads and abnormally large eyes that corresponded with the colors of their dresses.

And, as hard as it was for Dwonch to believe, _actual_ Power Rangers and Transformers fighting side-by-side.

More and more made their way into the clash across the wasteland, once again turning the tide rapidly in their favor. As long as the Tinkerers could hold up the rift, there was no possible way they could lose.

* * *

Si proficiently materialized her T.A.R.D.I.S. within one of the winding passages of the _Slayer_. Two Daleks came across the Gallifreyan module, prepared to fire on its exiting passengers until Neas swiftly retaliated, wiping them out with one blast of his Mulcher.

"There's not much time left before that rift starts to tear this reality apart," the Doctor cautioned.

Candace nodded in agreement. "Right. We'll have to split up. Sanders and the Doctor are with me. We're going after Davros and Vec. The rest of you get our friends out of captivity, find those T.A.R.D.I. , and destroy that generator."

"Is dividing the group _really_ such a good idea?" Neas objected. "It would be best if we all—"

"ALERT! ALERT! FLAGSHIP INTRUDED! ALERT! ALERT!"

The alarm broadcasted over the ship's loudspeakers.

"You wanna continue this conversation _now_ or get movin'?" Cara mordantly posed to Neas, prompting him and their fellow Gladiators to follow with Candace's plan and sprint to one end of the corridor while she, Sanders, and the Doctor had the other.

Daleks responding to the ship-wide emergency attempted to execute Neas's group but were unsuccessful.

Lindy and Mars erupted rift fire on them, imploding their bodies.

Obliterating the two Daleks guarding the holding cell door, they freely entered.

"You came back," Wirt was the first to show his joy in the Gladiators' return.

All their other companions expressed equal exultation in the unexpected rescue – none more so than Benson, whose heart fluttered at the sight of one Time Lady he longed to see again.

"Shel," he exuberantly yelped, rushing right to her and, without hesitation, planting a kiss directly on her lips.

Shel's pupils flared reactively.

The others watched in total silence with only Muscle Man uttering, "Awkward!"

The instant Benson disengaged, Shel felt her legs weaken at the knees; she was not certain how to respond to such a powerful smooch.

"Where's Sloth?" Chunk brought everyone's focus away from the sudden display of affection. "Is he okay? Is he still alive?!"

"He's fine," Maureen eased Chuck's concern. "He's back on the earth, fightin' with our army against the Daleks."

Rigby pumped his fist in the air. "Aw, sweet! We got our own army!"

"What about Candace?" A deeply concerned Kristin queried, noticing her daughter's absence within the collection of Gladiators. "Where is she?"

"Don't worry, Ma," Kimbyr said. "She's with the Doctor."

Kristin's brows drew together. "Wait. _The_ Doctor's here?!"

Clarence cuddled Mandy at the waist. "Oh, Mandy! I'm so glad you're here and safe and not Dalek chow!"

She tenderly rubbed her fingers through his hair. "I'm glad you're safe, too, sweetheart. Now how 'bout getting out of here, huh?"

All were in commitment of the act, just as a quartet of Daleks teleported inside the holding cell, blocking the exit.

"God, I hate when I forget they can do that!" Margie griped.

"YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE! YOU WILL BE EXTERMIN—!"

 _BOOM!_

The top halves of the four impeding Daleks were reduced to charred bits, much to the surprise of the Gladiators, none of whom were responsible for their quick execution.

It was after the smoke cleared did they see who the real ones accountable were.

Ten little Mogwai with makeshift bows and red sweatbands.

"Awwww!" The Gladiators gushed.

"Look at how hardcore they are with their widdle Rambo cosplays," Alicia sweetly specified. "Oh, I could just _melt_ right now!"

Mouth looked on the Mogwai with familiarity. "Hey, Chunk. Aren't these the same little guys you told the Sheriff about? Looks like you weren't jerkin' 'round with him after all."

"How did they wipe out those Daleks like that with just paperclips and rubber bands?" High-Five Ghost enquiringly asked.

"Who cares, bro?" Muscle Man refuted. "Let's just get outta here!"

Doing as he advocated, they all stormed out of the holding cell.

Rhyanna, Alicia, Si, and Lindsay each took handfuls of the ten Gizmos with them.

* * *

"That Tinkerer! They're gaining the upper hand!"

With much displeasure, Davros witnessed the collapse of his armada at the hands of the strangest assortment of beings he had ever seen. His rift used against him, no thanks to the combined efforts of the Tinkerer and his regenerations.

"Send a distress signal to Skaro," he commanded the Dalek bridge operators. "We must have _more_ reinforcements!"

Verging on carrying out the command, the bridge operators imploded out of existence. Not one Dalek was left to take control of the flagship, except for Vec, who was spared of the precipitous onslaught.

"You must think very little of yourself to leave this part of your ship so lightly guarded, Davros. Either that, or we're just that good."

No matter how much it changed in the years they have clashed, Davros could always identify the Doctor's voice. This adaptation, on the other hand, he knew from a more recent happenstance.

"Doctor," he sneered. "Has it been long since we faced on Skaro? You left me for dead, as you always do."

"And you survived, as _you_ always do," the Doctor contended.

Davros spun his chariot to face the Time Lord, yet he was entertained to find two of the Gladiators – the ones that went under the identities of "Candace" and "Sanders" – flanking him. Rift rifles gripped in hand, they trained their aim on Vec.

"Had it not been for your Gladiators, your time would surely end in Immortan Joe's arena, Doctor," Davros claimed.

"I don't deny that, Davros," the Doctor said. "You pulled me out of the Time Vortex for the purpose of trapping me in this crazy parallel dimension. Your only mistake was underestimating how good my old pupil is, even when she's beside herself…or _him_ self."

"And you've made an even greater mistake. You've underestimated the efficiency of my Vector Dalek."

The Doctor's jaw tightened. "No, I didn't. Why else do you think I brought _two_ Gladiators?"

Candace and Sanders fired on Dalek Vec.

The fusion of rift energy out of the two rifles overwhelmed his metal casing, imploding it from the inside. However, whereas the casing was diminished to nothing, something else – something more horrifying – remained.

The mouths of Candace, Sanders, and the Doctor fell open.

In Dalek Vec's place was a massive husk of gray-pinkish tentacles that took bipedal form, standing at seven feet tall, with a single eye, an exposed brain, and razor sharp crimson crustacean claws that served for "hands."

"Time Lord technology might have supplied Dalek Vec's outer shell, but Kaled science supplied the body – the _true_ body of Dalek Vec!" Davros exultantly boasted.

"EXTERMINATE!"

The heavily mutated monstrosity garbled, swiping its claws towards its three adversaries.

The Doctor fell back into one corner.

Candace and Sanders dodged, seeming to be Vec's primary targets.

Sanders made the effort of firing her rifle again, only to have it torn out of her grip by one of Vec's tentacles, lunging out. It disappeared into its torso, swallowing it whole.

Vec did worse to Candace's rifle, which she also endeavored to use, slicing the barrel in half with its left claw. Weaponless, she resorted to brawling with the Kaled abomination, throwing a few left and rights at its bulging, one-eyed face. As revolting as it felt punching at its eye, she was gratified of it being an effective measure.

Disappointingly, it lasted only seconds.

A pair of tentacles lashed out of Vec's grotesque body, tying around Candace's wrists and restraining her punches.

Another slithered out into her mouth, making its way down her esophagus.

She retched, sensing its slimy epidermis rubbing harshly against her uvula.

Sanders saw how Vec was asphyxiating her and acted fast. Into her left leg cover, she retrieved a dagger that she saved from the arena. Moving at whirlwind pace, she slashed at the tentacles restraining Candace, counting the one coupled to her mouth.

Vec squawked in agony, reeling back.

Freed of his clutches, Candace fell to her knees, yanking out the tentacle in her throat and vomiting.

"You okay?" Sanders checked with her.

Recovering, Candace inhaled and nodded. "Yeah, I'm good."

She gazed up with grateful eyes to her future thirteenth regeneration but rapidly went into alarm.

"LOOK OUT!"

Sanders turned, dagger ready in hand.

But she acted too late.

Vec's right claw tore through her body, skewering her.

The pain was searing and unbearable, certainly when Vec lifted her off her feet to bring her close to its distorted face, cackling from where its mouth presumably was.

"You…think _this_ …is funny," Sanders faintly hissed. "Wait 'til…you hear…this one. You…just ingested my gun. A gun…powered by…black hole energy. Now do the math on _that_!"

A disquieting gurgle emitted from within Vec's tentacled body.

Sanders felt its claw excruciatingly pluck out of her, and she collapsed to the floor. Candace tended to her, watching with Davros and the Doctor as Vec's claw broke down to a molecular level.

Soon enough, the rest of its body had, shrinking into oblivion.

"NO!" Davros bellowed.

Adding to the Dalek creator's madness, the Doctor pulled out _his_ sonic screwdriver – a model with a metal handle as blue as his T.A.R.D.I.S. and multiple emitters – and aimed for the ship's controls.

Sparks flew all around the screaming Davros, providing enough of a distraction for an escape.

The Doctor assisted Candace in carrying the critically wounded Sanders off the bridge. In their haste, they were nearly knocked off their feet from the lurching flagship, complemented with a deafening _bang_.

"What's happening _now_?!" Candace yelled.

"The rift's finally subsiding!" The Doctor distressed. "We need to destroy that generator now or never!"

They turned a corner, sighting the other Gladiators and their liberated companions entering through an oval doorway. Following after them, they discovered what could only be the generator room, the confiscated T.A.R.D.I. linked to the spherical device at the center.

Noticing the trio with them, Shel's eyes widened over the condition of Sanders.

"What happened to her?!" Her exclamation directed all attention to their horribly lacerated ally.

"Never mind," the Doctor impudently barked. "Just destroy that thing!"

Neas followed his instruction, firing a single blast from his Mulcher on the generator, clearing it out.

Another tremor of incalculable magnitude shook the ship.

"I assume that would be our 'little' rift getting ready to close?" Isabel facetiously presumed.

"Your assumption would be correct," the Doctor said. "Everyone get to a T.A.R.D.I.S. _Any_ T.A.R.D.I.S.!"

The Gladiators and their companions occupied the nearest module.

A symphony of hums and grinds were reverberant in the dematerialization of eight Type-Z T.A.R.D.I. . Two were spared for the remaining trio that was Candace, Sanders, and the Doctor.

The Doctor seized control of one; Candace had the other, hauling Sanders in.

They dematerialized in time for the generator room to plunge. The instability of the rift drew in the _Slayer_ and other Dalek ships in its reach, splintering them to smithereens.

* * *

"Don't be scared. We'll get you some help. Pop and the Doctor will know just what to do. You'll see."

Frantically fiddling with the controls, Candace urged on Sanders, whose hemorrhaging body was slumped to the floor. Her breathing grew weaker. Each minute was one closer to death.

Of course, there was no such thing for a Time Lord.

Not for one with as many regenerations as she retained.

"It's okay…it's okay," Sanders wheezed. "It's not the end."

Candace turned to her. She saw her skin glowing gold.

She knew about regeneration – how it worked as a way of "cheating death" for Time Lords.

But never had she beheld it up close.

"My only regret…is that I didn't get a change of clothes for my next self," Sanders jittered. "They're going to _hate_ me."

Candace desired to share in her laughter but was too disconcerted for her.

The laughter transitioned into tears.

"You know… I've traveled for so long… I've forgotten what home used to be like," Sanders conceded. "I miss it…I miss it and…and I don't even remember it."

Candace's eyes welled. "I do. I remember it vividly."

"Describe it for me…will ya?"

Candace took a shallow breath. "It…It was real lush. Land and crops as far as the eye could see. You can hear the crickets chirp in the day and all the way into the night. Those light bugs were always fun to catch out of the bushes. We used to keep them in those old jars, and Ma would yell at us 'cause she needed those jars to put her flowers in. And Pop would have that peach tree in the backyard, ready to pluck for Ma's peach pie. You could never find a finer pie. So sweet to taste, it was unforgettable…unforgettable."

Her vision swamped by tears, she realized Sanders had finally drifted.

Engulfed by a radiance of golden energy, the middle-aged brunette converted into a much younger one, lacking the defined muscle structure signature to her predecessor. The provocative attire was somewhat loose on the newer, slimmer young body.

The area of which Vec skewered healed wholly; her breathing returned to normal.

Assured that Sanders's successor would be well, Candace brought the T.A.R.D.I.S. back down to the wasteland and engaged its controls on auto-pilot. She disembarked subsequently to the dematerialization process, trekking up to the top of a ridge. From there, she was awestruck by the mass of her infinite regenerations and their companions/allies celebrating across the war-torn landscape.

Most important of all, the rift was closed, bequeathing the twilight sky.


	23. Epilogue

**Epilogue: Adventure of a Lifetime**

 _Tonight, we are victorious  
Champagne pouring over us  
All my friends were glorious  
Oh-oh-oh-oh, victorious!_

The console room of the Tinkerer's Type-X T.A.R.D.I.S. became a scene straight out of a nightclub. Purple and green strobe lights flashed overhead, active fog machines, loud music, and lots of dancing. Cara served as the emcee and D.J., hyping the mass celebratory crowd that bled out into the warehouse.

Steven and Kristin waltzed, despite being out of pace with the up-tempo music.

Rhyanna impressed everyone with her alluring rendition of the Charleston.

Barry breakdanced at super speed, virtually generating a cyclone.

And even the Doctor, having a change of wardrobe in the victory celebration (swapping his hoodie for a white collared shirt and his navy blue Crombie for a maroon velvet style), got a few dance steps in.

The only few that were _not_ having such fun were the Fratellis, restrained in handcuffs and settled in a corner, awaiting their forthcoming jail sentence once returned to their dimension.

It was the party of the century and rightfully so.

They were heroes of the multiverse, saving it from Davros and the Daleks.

There was no telling how long the celebration would go on, with so many people – both regenerations of the Gladiator and their throng of companions – gathered.

Yet there was one unaccounted for that Neas took recognition in.

Once again, Kimbyr was missing from the assemblage.

He tried to figure what could have been wrong this time to draw her away from such a huge gala meant to commend their hard work and bravery. Could she still be shaken from the alien predator?

To get his answers, he had to pry himself away from the merriment, stepping out of the Type-X, through the warehouse, and out towards endless field of Type-Z T.A.R.D.I. .

"O.K., what's goin' on?"

He turned to find that Candace and Shel trailed him.

The two women looked just as bothered as he was.

"This is the second time today I've seen you walk out to find Kimbyr," Candace said. "Is something wrong?"

Neas shrugged. "That's what I'm hoping to find out, if you two wanna join me."

They took him up on his invitation, scouring across the field of T.A.R.D.I. in the hope of finding Kimbyr's.

It was a challenging task, with how analogous in design all the solids were.

Eventually, they achieved, by the grace of luck, in spotting the one open T.A.R.D.I.S. in the field; its lit interior like a beacon in the night atmosphere.

The three Gladiators went inside, expecting to see Kimbyr cowered somewhere.

Instead, the first thing they saw was Kimbyr herself merrily humming through her console room, carting a decorative white cardboard box with another box filled with crayons sitting atop it.

"Kimbyr?" Neas got her attention.

She looked their way; her face sporting fresh makeup, her hair restyled, and the sweet scent of an expensive brand of perfume that probably had a famous name tied to it. She could have passed as a whole new woman.

"Oh, hey," she greeted her past incarnations. "What's up with you guys?"

"We'd ask you the same question," Candace uttered. "Why aren't you celebrating with us? Is there something wrong?"

Kimbyr smiled, shaking her head. "Nope. Everything's all cool. Just wanted to keep Shyla busy while I was away."

Neas frowned. "Shyla?"

"My daughter," Kimbyr clarified.

"WHAT?!" Neas, Candace, and Shel sparked with astonishment.

"Yeah," Kimbyr said. "I didn't tell you guys?"

"No, I think you've left out that detail," Neas mocked.

"Oh! Well, you all should come see her."

She led them down to the console room's lower level where they found a four-year-old girl with dark blond hair and wearing a pink _Hello Kitty_ onesie. Gizmo sat close next to her, watching as she colored in characters out of coloring book.

In the short moment that she glanced up at the four adults near her, they could see a mini Kimbyr in her features. Her eyes, while not as emerald as her mother's, were that of a puppy's in a hazel-brown hue.

"Oh, my god," Shel enthused. "Kimbyr, she's precious."

Kimbyr beamed. "She is, isn't she? My lil' Shyla."

Guilt overtook Neas. "I'm so sorry," he told Kimbyr.

"For what?" She curiously asked.

"The way I've been doggin' you about stepping up and being a Gladiator," he related. "This whole time and I never knew why you're the way you are: you're a mother. You're not like the rest of us, so willing to leap into the jaws of danger. You've got a little girl to think about. I should've known that."

Kimbyr was touched by his sympathy. "I didn't want any of you to know for that very reason. Yeah, Shyla, Gizmo, and I come up against some scary crap out there, but she's braver than even I could know."

"She gets it from her mama," Candace smirked.

"True that," Kimbyr concurred.

"Is she…?" Neas lingered on the question, presuming Kimbyr would know what he was implying.

Luckily, she did. "A Time Lord? Yeah, she is. A full-bloodied one, in fact. I just hadn't had the courage to tell her yet. Like, it's just too much to grasp for a girl her age, ya know?"

"You'll tell her one day," Candace guaranteed.

"There's just one thing I'm _really_ curious to know," Shel began. "Who's the—?"

"Excuse me."

Their attention went to the upper level, discovering the Doctor standing there, leaning over the railing.

"While I was mesmerized by Ms. Mars's uncanny ability of twerking to the beat of 'Eye of the Tiger,' I realized that I'm stuck here," he informed. "If it's not so much trouble, would one of you be so kind to give me a tow back into the time vortex?"

"Sure," Kimbyr volunteered. "I can give ya a boost."

"Splendid!" The Doctor gratefully exclaimed. "Any of you, of course, would've agreed, which is why – as a gesture of my gratitude – I left a gift for all of you in your T.A.R.D.I. ."

Neas snickered. " _All_ of our T.A.R.D.I. ? Doctor, even for you, that would've taken _years_ with as many around right now."

"Exactly," the Doctor dryly acknowledged. "Which is why you better enjoy it, 'cause I'm not taking it back."

The four Gladiators guffawed at the old Time Lord.

"Thank you, Doctor," Candace expressed in sincerity. "Thank you for all you've done to help us, even in spite of my father."

The Doctor gave a disgruntled sigh. "I must admit that he _is_ a genius. His plan, as insane as it might've been, helped us win over Davros and his armada." He then centered on the four and warmly added, "You can come to me at any time. No matter what face I have when you find me, never hesitate to call for my help."

* * *

For the several regenerations of the Gladiator, the party just got started.

For Candace, Neas, and Shel, it was time to move along.

There was not a lot of time to bid farewell to every single one of their successors or predecessors – not that any of them would remember. Lauren and the crew from the Park joined with them, particularly for the latter to return to their home dimension.

The three T.A.R.D.I. materialized on the Park grounds, right near the same crater that Neas's created on its first emergency landing.

"Man, I wonder what day it could be," Mordecai said upon stepping out of Shel's T.A.R.D.I.S. with his friends.

"Hardly anything's changed since we've been away," Muscle Man noted.

"That's 'cause it's still New Year's, after midnight," Neas said. "Right where we found you guys."

"Seriously?!" Rigby exclaimed. "It's felt like _weeks_!"

"Did we forget to mention that our T.A.R.D.I.S. travels through time, too?" Shel haughtily stated.

While his employees reveled in the fact, Benson uneasily approached Shel.

"Uh…Shel? About me kissing you back there in the Dalek ship? Look, I'm sorry if it came off as unexpected and unnecessary. It was a stupid move I made in the heat of the moment, and I'm sorry. I understand if you think of me as being repulsively immature and desperate…"

"Don't forget 'thirsty,'" Rigby supplemented.

Benson angrily gritted his teeth at the raccoon. "Yes, thank you, Rigby." After a deep calming breath, he continued, "Anyway, I hope that hasn't changed how you feel about me as a—"

He froze just as Shel's warm, soft lips touched the side of his glass dome head.

"We'll meet again, Benson," she sultrily told him.

"Whoooooooooooooooooooooa, Benson!" Mordecai and Rigby whooped.

"Way to go, bro!" Muscle Man cheered.

"Casanova!" Skips extolled.

"Good show!" Pops applauded.

Benson blushed, his dome turning a dark shade of purple.

"Well, I…uh…," he stammered, chuckling. "I gu-guess I'll see you again, t-too."

"You guys are the coolest!" Rigby praised.

"Yeah, whenever you're around the Park again, hook us up with another crazy space adventure," Mordecai invited.

Neas snorted. "I don't think you fellas are ready for _real_ space adventures."

"More like _real_ space adventures aren't ready for _us_ ," Rigby countered, following it with another whoop out of him and the rest of the crew.

Lauren and the three Gladiators watched as they returned to their domicile.

"I suppose this is also goodbye for us," Candace told her two successors and Lauren. "You all have really given me a lot to look forward to in my future, for what it's worth in these last few seconds."

"I sure miss being you," Shel admitted to her. She then nodded to Neas and sarcastically added, "Him, not so much."

Neas scoffed. "Oh, really?"

"Nah, you're cool," Shel yielded. "Just…try to lighten up every once in a while."

"I'll see that he does," Lauren tittered.

"You two young'uns did alright today," Candace acclaimed. "It's reassuring to know that my future's in safe hands."

Exchanging hugs and kisses to each other, the three Gladiators withdrew into their respective T.A.R.D.I. .

Lauren accompanied Neas into his own.

Immediately thereafter, the Gallifreyan capsules dematerialized from the Park and back within separate dimensional corridors.

* * *

Neas could already sense the mental effects of his personal timeline restored to order. It was an odd sensation, a bit akin to momentary dizziness stemming from a lack of sleep, something Time Lords hardly ever required.

As the seconds passed, fragments of his harrowing adventure slipped away.

Adjusting with the T.A.R.D.I.S. controls, his eye caught Lauren, who lovingly nestled the cooing Gizmo close to her bosom. Her electric blue eyes despondently veered away from the Mogwai, as if lost in concerning thought.

He knew exactly what burdened her spirits.

"Ma will be just fine, Pop," he told her. "General Dwonch will use her connections within U.N.I.T. to make sure she's well cared for. They're giving her a new house in a new country where she'll be safe and happy."

Lauren forced a smile. "I don't deny being grateful for your mother having peace. There's so much that I've done in my past that deserves her _that_ right and the right to be as far away from me as she can." She blew out a long, wearied breath. "At least she got the chance to see her husband – her _real_ husband – the way he once was."

"You know, anytime you feel like seeing her again…"

"I don't see that happening anytime soon, son."

Neas understandingly nodded.

It was then he detected mechanized warbling inside the control console. Out of a slot he had never noticed until then, there popped a bizarre sonic screwdriver with a blue lit tip and a combination of designs from three British periods: Elizabethan, Victorian, and future.

Lauren's face turned at its motif. "What kind of sonic is _that_?!"

"A very rare one," Neas specified. "No doubt it's the gift the Doctor left for me. I certainly intend on making good use of it."

Pocketing his new present away, he returned his attention to the controls.

"So, Pop," he enthusiastically said. "Where to first? So many worlds, so much time! We've got the whole Infinite D.C. to—!"

He stopped once he, Lauren, and Gizmo heard sinister snarling close by.

Turning their heads to it, they were daunted to find a vicious, scaly gremlin with red eyes and a white tuft of fur perched on the console platform railing. Neas knew him to be the same one that stirred up so much chaos in his T.A.R.D.I.S. recently, yet had been unsuccessful in retrieving him…

…before now.

"Here we go again," he infuriatedly grumbled.

 **Infinite DC**


End file.
